


in this realm of blood and sin

by GoddessOfTheVoid



Series: in this realm [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angry Jaskier | Dandelion, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Sexual Assault, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Character Study, Coming Untouched, Dom/sub Undertones, Episode Fix-It: s01e06 Rare Species, Face-Fucking, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Talks About Feelings, Getting Together, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Mess, M/M, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Praise Kink, Random Faceless Entity, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Self-Worth Issues, Sexual Fantasy, Shapeshifting monster, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Touch-Starved, Wall Sex, implied immortal jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23020957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessOfTheVoid/pseuds/GoddessOfTheVoid
Summary: Being on his own for the first time in over a decade is not going well for Jaskier, who is still wallowing in his heartbreak months after parting ways with Geralt. Stumbling upon a creature offering him the fulfillment of his deepest desires for a price, he's all too willing to pay it in his longing and despair. Only to be left with anger and bitterness as he meets Geralt again after an unfortunate attack.Or the angsty fix-it in which Jaskier makes bad life choices and Geralt tries to fix the mess he created.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: in this realm [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764229
Comments: 67
Kudos: 592
Collections: The Witcher Alternate Universes





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Me: can't finish another WIP for 3 years due to rl and lack of inspiration  
> Also me: joins the Witcher fandom and suddenly has the inspiration to write again 
> 
> So here it is finally. The Jaskier submits to the shapeshifting monster fic idea I teased on tumblr in the beginning of January. I'm sorry it took me so long to actually finish it but well, the word count escalated a bit and turned out so much longer than I originally planned as my brain wanted me to add more and more angst. (also I am probably the slowest writer ever (coming for your title GRR lol)) Anyways I hope you'll enjoy it.
> 
> For the purpose of this story only rougly a decade has passed between Jaskier meeting Geralt and the dragon hunt as I had already started writing it before the proper timeline came out.
> 
> Title and verses in the beginning and end are lose translations from Hristo Botev poems. And as always English is not my first language so please be kind should you spot any mistakes.

_Oh forget the tears I shed  
_ _For a gentle look from thee  
_ _A slave I was and fetters dragged  
_ _Just to see you smile at me_  
_Like the fool I scorned the world  
_ _In the mud my feelings hurled_

_For God’s sake make him shut up. I can’t take it anymore._

_If only destiny could have given us a useful son instead of that._

_Your birth was the biggest curse laid upon me._

_As if I would want to deal with someone like you for the rest of my life._

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands._

Geralt’s words were still ringing in his ears. Their pain still agonizingly fresh, breaking apart the somewhat healed scar tissue of all the other cursing tossed at him during his lifetime, creating a new wound so deep he doubted it would ever heal.

His heart shattering into tiny pieces as he stumbled down the mountain, yet unshed tears clouding his eyes. It was a wonder he made it down without killing himself as he was very relieved to be upon flat ground again. Almost as if he was surprised at having survived the treacherous territory on his own, almost as if part of him would have preferred it to just fall into the abyss. At least it would have eradicated his pain, just alongside his miserable existence. Fulfilling Geralt’s wish for good. But yet there he was. Alive. And truly alone for the first time in years. 

Cursing his fragile soul for the tears that still kept running down his face as he tried to keep on the path. Quiet sobs no one would hear. Rivers of salty water, dropping into the dirt he was walking upon. A weakness he had to allow himself, the only visualization of his anguish. He would mourn his heartbreak before he would take his traitorous heart, put it in a box, lock it and throw the key far, far away. Never allowing anyone else to break it again. Not that there was anything left to break. Geralt had done a very thorough job with that.

_Let’s head to the coast_ , he had offered. _Take a break from everything and everyone. Just us._ What a fool he was. What a stupid idiot. Still blessed apparently with the nativity of an eighteen year old who decided following a Witcher was a great idea. As if Geralt would have agreed. As if he would have cared about his childish ways of trying to console him. As if he would have wanted to spend some time with him away from the mess of their lives. As if his presence would bring any comfort to him. How utterly foolish indeed. Trying to offer his heart to the one man who apparently despised him so much he blamed him for every bad thing that happened in his life. If he wasn’t so heartbroken he would have laughed at his own idiocy.

He felt lost, unsure what to do with himself, where to go, now that he was on his own. Still wondering how his entire world managed to collapse itself in just a day. And worst, there was still a part of him that kept wishing that Geralt would come after him, riding in haste to apologize and ask him to return to his side. What an absurdity. As if that would actually happen. He might have been a fool but he was not dumb. And he knew very well how useless it was to hope for something he was certainly not going to get.

His life was not a romance fairytale where the prince would come rushing after him, saving him, protecting him. Loving him even. Geralt was no prince. And he was certainly no princess waiting to be saved either. There were no happy endings for people like him. Geralt had made his wishes clear. And he could still see the disgust in his face, the coldness of his eyes as he yelled at him. A glare so frozen there was no warmth left in those yellow orbs he had come to love so much. He would never come back for him. And he could do nothing more than to accept it. To move on with his life as best as he could.

And yet he was left to wonder. What was it with his personality that no one wanted to keep him around for long? Why was he the one everyone wanted to get rid of as soon as they could? He was always too loud, too annoying, too cheerful. Couldn’t stop taking, always babbling nonsense. Just too much. Too much of everything. He was too much to bear. For every single person in his life. No one wanted him. Not for long. Never forever. No matter how hard he tried, how much effort he put into it. He always ended up alone. The never ending circle of his life.

At first it was fine. They had fun, laughed at his jokes, might have even enjoyed his company. Until he started to irritate them. He talked too much, talked too loud. Random babbling, never stopping. Until he could see their eyes rolling, until he could see the irritation dripping from their faces. He knew he talked a lot. He knew it. And sooner or later it would turn into annoyance, into the wish to rid themselves from his presence. Preferably for eternity. Rinse and repeat. Every single time.

He knew it would come. The time when they had enough of him. When they decided to get rid of him. When it was time to vanish from their sight and never return. And he tried to prepare himself. To take it with composure. To accept it was time for him to go and move on. Yet it somehow still hurt him, leaving just another invisible scar upon his bruised soul.

Years passed. And he was actually good at spotting it right before it happened. It was visible in their faces if you looked close enough. Their annoyance and disgust, trying to hide it from him in the beginning. As if that would spare him any pain. If anything their deceiving made it just worse. Just as their words that he could not forget for some reason.

_I want you to be silent Julian._

_Can’t you shut your mouth for once._

_I cannot believe I birthed a son that talks more than cheap whore._

_Be silent Julian. Shut up Julian. Vanish from my sight Julian. Stop existing Julian._

And that’s what he did. Running away from his pain to become someone else. Someone who would perhaps be loved one day.

He tried to change, so desperately, but it never worked. Of course it didn’t. The only way to make him shut up would be to curse his voice. To mute him for eternity. And that was something he did not want. Not ever. He’d rather deal with the loneliness then give up the one thing that made him himself.

Yet sometimes he wondered if he was cursed. Cursed to be born in a way that his sheer existence annoyed the people around him. A personality so useless he’d always questioned where he was going to find his place. If there would ever be a place for him or just a person he could call home. Someone to love him and cherish him. Forever.Someone to give up his lonely life on the road for.

In his dreams he envisioned himself happy. In a small home, together with someone he loved. Someone that loved him. A faceless person waiting for him, loving him, giving him everything he craved. It was wonderful. Until the moment he woke up and was faced again with the bitter reality. And the solitude that awaited him.

It was fine, he kept telling himself. He traveled, never stayed long in any place, left before most of the people started to loathe his presence. It was easy. Charming his way into foreign beds when the craving for human touch became too strong and he could not endure the loneliness any longer. And getting away before they could get to know him, before he could do anything that made them turn hostile against him.

Certainly it was easier to bear when he was the one who was leaving. After all it was by his own choice then. He was the one in power. He was the one deciding he’s had enough. He left. Not them. Never them. Only him. Or that’s what he kept telling himself. In those nights where loneliness tried to overwhelm him, where he wished nothing more than to be with someone. To matter to a person. To have someone care for him, someone to love him, to cherish him. To be more than just a warm hole to be used and discard after he’d served his purpose.

Until Geralt happened.

Until he spotted him and was instantly intrigued. Until he approached him, entirely fearless, because there wasn’t much he could do to him that wasn’t already done to him. Until he found himself following him into the depths of hell. Until he forgot that he was supposed to be the one who leaves, to detach himself before it happened again, before Geralt would tire of him. Until he unconsciously decided to stay by his side, to continue this certain path to heartbreak. And until that fateful day his worst fears had stabbed him right in the middle of his heart.

A decade of his life, wasted for a fantasy of happiness that could never be his. His foolish hopes that Geralt would notice him, see more in him than an annoying puppy he could not lose. Oh how he wished that he would have learned to care about him, that he would have seen how much he meant to him. That he would not join the endless list of people condemning his existence.

And yet, truth was, he missed him. Even months after getting his heart broken in the cruelest way.Even after wandering from town to town on his own, trying to get used to it. What a pathetic mess he was. But dealing with rejection was never his strong suit.

It was easy when there were no feelings involved, when it was just about getting pleasure and parting ways. If there was no love, there could be no heartbreak. It was as simple as that. And oh how he longed sometimes for those simpler times. Where he did not crave the company of a person who saw him as an annoying nuisance at best.

He missed his grumpiness, the insults he grumbled under his breath so often. He missed his company on their travels, the fact that he was not alone and had someone to share his life with him. He even missed the danger they faced more often than not. If this was the price he had to pay for his company he had gladly accepted it.

But most he missed the warmth of his arms, the comfort of an embrace that could never be what he really wanted.

Oh he did remember those nights on the road, stuck in freezing cold weather, even though it had been years ago. When there was that one first night, where he desperately tried to fall asleep, teeth chattering in the cold. Geralt had rolled over, put his arm around him, pressed his chest right to his back. And he remembered vividly how he had tensed at first, in fear that this was just a very nice dream, or that Geralt would realize what he had done and repulse away from him. At least until he told him to relax, until his strong arm pulled him even closer, locking him in place and his deep voice ordered him to sleep. And that had been the best night of his life. Every other coupling paled in comparison to this innocent night of sleep, giving him more satisfaction that a fuck ever could.

Pathetic as he was he begun to crave it, even wishing for more of those freezing nights on the road, if only they could give him this sweet torture. If only he would not awake in the morning alone, no trace of Geralt next to him, always leaving him to wonder if it was not just his imagination. He could not ask, would never dare it, for he was certain Geralt would stop doing it, if he mentioned it just once. The unspoken secret of those nights weighing heavy between them.

Sometimes he’d awoken during those nights, still safely tucked in Geralt’s embrace, his massive hand splayed on his chest, almost unconsciously possessive, and a strong leg pushed between his own. The heat of his skin burning through the layers of clothing he was wearing, making him wish he could feel it without the barrier between them. Skin to skin, rough fingers moving over his naked chest. He wondered of Geralt could feel the pounding of his heart against his hand. How his warm breath puffing against his neck in slow exhales caused shivers to run down his spine. And how he had to fight the tightness in his pants every single time it happened.

And yet he cherished those few cold nights he could spend in his arms, taking the pain of awakening alone for the few hours he could rest in his arms. He knew it meant nothing to Geralt. Of course it didn’t. It was just a way to make sure he did not freeze to death. After all he was nothing but a weak human, not build to withstand the harsh elements like a Witcher could.

And soon the faceless figure of his dreams morphed into a familiar face. White hair and yellow eyes. And the realization that he wanted nothing more than Geralt to become his home. His love, his everything. The new owner of his heart. A dangerous thought, worming itself into his brain. Creating hope where he knew there should be none.

For Geralt it was only practical. A necessity perhaps. To ensure his survival. A way for him to avoid being forced to deal with preventable sicknesses. Nothing else. He would not care for him. Not in that way. His dreams begged to differ. For him instead it was so much more. It turned into a craving, leaving him to want more of it. An itch beneath his skin that would never be properly scratched. An addiction to an illusion of happiness that could never be his reality.

How he craved for those rare times where he could sit behind him on Roach, pressed tightly to his back. Feeling the rippling of his muscles beneath his hands, the comfort of the shoulder he had rested his head against as he dozed. Anything to touch him, to be near him, to pretend if only for some moments that this was something more.

Or that one time he nearly died, choking and drowning in his own blood. How tenderly Geralt had held him as he had raced for help. His strength the only comfort he could remember through his haziness. He had cared for him. Cared enough to search for help, to not give up until he was cured. Any other person would have left him to die, would have told him he deserved it, a perfect price to pay for his greediness. But not Geralt. Not then, when it was still the two of them. Not when he could still hang onto his fantasy that he somehow mattered to the Witcher.

Fucking Geralt. Not literally, unfortunately. But oh how he wished for it. He ruined him for all the other people existing in their world without even properly touching him, without giving him what his body and soul really craved. No one compared to him. No one could satisfy the one fantasy engrained in his mind. No matter who he met, who he decided to bed, it just wasn’t enjoyable anymore. He stopped craving women, years ago. It was fine for a while, men still existed after all. And for a while it was good. He could deal with his lust when he felt like he needed to, scratch that itch before it became unbearable. Until it also was not enough.

None of them could give him what he wanted. Not the Lords. Not when most of them didn’t even know how to properly satisfy their wives. There was certainly not much he could expect from them. Their fingers too thin, their cocks too small. And a significant lack of technique. Especially for what he craved. Which were large and rough hands on his body and a fuck so hard he would feel it for days. A certain feralness he could not find behind palace walls. And a thick cock stretching him to the point of borderline pain, filling him just in the right way. No, there was no chance he would get this from any noble man. 

He knew exactly what type of men he needed to seek for that and where to find them once Geralt went away for his hunts. After all it was the only time he could indulge in such escapades. Those days provided him with just enough time for their smell to vanish and the bruises they left behind to fade from his skin. Enough time for Geralt to not suspect anything once he’d returned. And over the years he became more and more desperate to search for men like that. Using any possible chance for his endeavors in hope that Geralt would never notice how much he wanted him instead.

And now that Geralt would never come back to him, his need to find someone else to fill that voidinside of him grew even more so. He was desperate enough to endure their groping touch, to endure the pain of a quick fuck without a proper stretch in some back alley. Face smushed against a wall and a hand against his throat. It was not enough but still better than facing the loneliness, the fact that there was no one else who wanted him. Sometimes he was lucky and they took him back to their beds, deciding he was a good enough fuck for them to want his body for more than just a few minutes. And he gladly spend the night, grateful for a place to sleep. It did not matter that he had to pay for it with his body. He even had hopes, such high hopes, that he would find one day a man able to fuck his longing for the white haired wolf right out of him.

Much had changed since that day on the mountain, much had changed since he did not have to hide his desires from too keen Witcher senses anymore. He did not bother covering the bruises, their stench probably clinging to them as they rarely gave him the generosity to use a bath before he left on his path. And he was thinner now, his already slim form steadily loosing weight as time passed.

There was not as much coin thrown at him nowadays. Song of heartbreak were not in popular demand and he could not bring himself to sing those songs that reminded him of old times. Not when each one of them felt like a stabbing knife right to his heart. And a sad bard with a broken voice was as useless as a broken sword on a knight. Naturally this meant less coin for him. Another thing he had to get used to. He did not have enough for regular meals anymore. Not enough to get the amount of food his body needed to maintain his former weight.

It made it easier though. Most men he laid with preferred their partners to be thin, to look much more fragile beneath them and he was not ashamed to take advantage of that. His hair had grown longer too, hanging over his eyes in messy strings. He could not waste any money having someone cut it, not if he needed what little coin he had for the occasional food and bed. And if he was honest he did somewhat prefer the look. It was different, didn’t remind him of how he looked during the time he spent with Geralt. Plus it made him less recognizable. And that was exactly what he wanted. He did not need people reminding him of past times, of what he thought he had with Geralt. Nor did he want to cause any disturbances with anyone who might have still held a grudge. He was perfectly fine to stay under the radar. Just barely existing. Nothing more but a shell of his former self.

That woman. That damned witch. Sometimes he wanted to curse her for taking Geralt from him. Even if it was not exactly her fault. He couldn’t blame her. Not really, for she did nothing wrong. She saved his life when she could have easily let him die, slowly choking on his own blood. He should be thankful and yet he could not stop wishing she never existed. How could he compare to her. A useless human without any significant power, next to her, immortal, full of strength he did not possess. Of course Geralt was drawn to her, she was his perfect match. In every way. He could never be what she was, there was no sense in even trying.

Still there was the bitter sting of jealousy in his chest. More than once he wished he would have never seen them together, fucking in the ruins of that house, for it had made everything just worse. The memory ingrained in his mind, yet another thing to fuel his nightmares with. And yet he had kept on watching, mesmerized by the scene in front of his eyes. Couldn’t tear himself from the broken window. A voyeur to a scene that was almost a copy of one of his fantasies. How badly he wanted to be in her place, riding the Witcher like there was no tomorrow, feeling his strong hands gripping his hips as he thrust up to him, filling that place inside of him that felt so empty.

Sometimes he wished he could go back in time. Back to when it was just the two of them. A Witcher and a bard. Wandering the roads together.Before his stupidity had forced Geralt to seek her out, to lay his eyes upon her and discard him. If someone was to blame for their introduction he had to start right with himself. And his stupid impulsive decisions. His ignorance of the power all magical beings possessed. If it wasn’t for himself, Geralt would never have been forced to seek her out. He wouldn’t have met her, wouldn’t have been put under her spell. And perhaps they still would be traveling together. And he would still have a chance of continuing to live his little fantasy of being something more to Geralt. If only he hadn’t been so careless.

Even now his worst nightmares still had him waking up choking, gasping for air, mouth frozen in a silent scream as the phantom taste of blood coated his tongue. Silent sobs wrecking his body until there were no more tears left for him to cry, until he was so numb he passed out again into blissful nothingness. There was no one to comfort him, no one to hold him while he struggled desperately for breath. Lungs constricting against the imaginary fluid filling his lungs until he felt like he would die at any moment. Drowning in blood, all alone, with no one by his side. And he craved nothing more in those horrible nights than Geralt. He wanted to be with him, to be held by him, to feel his strong body beside him. He wanted to hear his reassurance, telling him that he will be fine in that wonderfully deep voice of his. To protect him against his nightmares and any evil creature he might stumble upon. In those moments he wanted nothing more than his love, only to realize once again that he would never get it.

Yet sometimes he allowed himself to dream. To dream of waking up in a soft bed, resting in Geralt’s arms, feeling the slow beating of his heart underneath his ear. A calming lullaby. And it was peaceful, so, so peaceful. No one to disturb them. As if they were the only people to exist. Instead a gentle waking up to the sun shining in their eyes as morning faded into noon. There was no haste to get up, instead there were lazy caresses and soft kisses pressed into naked skin. The clumsy tenderness of still being half asleep. Until they woke up properly, until their kisses turned heated and he could feel Geralt rolling on top of him, pressing him to the sheets with the sheer mass of his body. He dreamed of passionate kisses, of rough fingers exploring his body, finding their way inside him, making him sing in pleasure. He dreamed of being filled, of feeling Geralt so deep inside of him, that he could not tell anymore who was who. It was slow, each thrust making him scream as Geralt whispered sweet nothings into his ear. A growling and possessive voice, claiming him as his, reducing him into a babbling mess. A blissful emptiness in his mind, there was nothing but Geralt. Around him, on top of him, inside him…

…until he woke up. 

Numbing cold around him. No warmth. No bed. Not even a roof over his head. Only a worn cloak acting as a barrier against frozen earth. No Geralt either. And with it again the understanding that he would never feel his warmth again. He was on his own. And would continue to be on his own until the day he died.

It was cold outside, autumn slowly fading into winter. Certainly no time to spend the night outside. Not when the temperatures were almost freezing at night. But yet there he was. In the middle of a massive forrest, probably days away from any town. No chance for him to find a warm bed anytime soon. There was only one choice, to keep on walking until he found shelter or freeze to death. He could just lie down, find his final rest on this cold dirt, hidden from any civilisation, rotting into the ground to be forgotten. He could do it, if he chose so, but he did not want it. While death might have sounded tempting during difficult times, he still wanted to live, wanted to hope that better times were waiting for him.So continuing really was the only option for him.

He kept on walking, following the narrow path deeper and deeper into the woods. Cursing his stupid decision to leave the last village in hope for something better. Perhaps he should have stayed the night at the inn. It would have been safer. But he did not earn enough money to allow himself this luxury. He needed to save whatever coin he had in case he got into any trouble instead of wasting it. No, he would survive a night in the woods. After all he’d been doing it plenty of times during the last decade. It did not matter that he was not alone during that time, that Geralt was always there with him, hunting for food, keeping them safe from the creatures roaming in the dark.. He did not need him. He would be just as fine on his own.

His chattering teeth begged to differ.

Perhaps he should have found a willing man instead, someone craving for a person warm his bed, he thought. It would have given him a warm bed to spend the night, perhaps even some food, would have saved him walking through the woods at night, so he wouldn’t be forced to withstand the almost freezing temperatures. But he hadn’t been in the mood for it. The thought of one of those dirty and drunk men in the inn touching him, kissing him, fucking him, was just repulsive. He was no cheap whore. Yet. And nor would he turn into one if he could help it. If he decided to stay in someone’s bed it would be because _he_ craved it, because he wanted to be touched and fucked. And not as an exchange for food and a roof. He was desperate but not yet desperate enough to choose this option. Either way it was too late to turn back. He had already walked too far from the village to turn back and now he had to live with the outcome of his not so ideal decision.

He burrowed deeper into his cloak, the worn piece of wool not really offering any protection against the cold. He needed to invest into something thicker, perhaps something fur lined, if he wanted to make it through the winter. If only he had the coin for it. The urgency for it had risen certainly. He could not survive on the road in tattered silk and wool. Maybe he did need to find someone to seduce, someone willing enough to spare some coin on him. Whoring himself out sounded suddenly so much more appealing when he was trying not to die.Perhaps there was some sense of self preservation left in him after all. He needed to think about it, when he reached the next town, if he reached it at all and didn’t freeze to death in the middle of the woods.

Stumbling across the path he barely noticed it at first. The shadow in the distance. A blob of darkness, obscuring the sparse moonlight breaking through the trees. He couldn’t see what it was. And it vanished as soon as he tried to focus on it. Perhaps it was just his tired mind playing tricks on him, distorting his view of a bush or tree. Who else would be so suicidal and try to cross the woods during a freezing night. What his mind could not explain was the uneasy feeling in his gut and fact that he seemed to spot it ever so often out of the corner of his eyes.

Shaking his head he kept on waking, searching instead for a suitable hidden place to spend the night, perhaps a small cave or something like that. A place to shelter him from the freezing wind, a place to rest his exhausted body, if only for a few hours. To regain some strength, just until he could continue his path to the next town.

Lost in his thoughts he didn’t realize how he had diverted from the path and walked deeper into the trees instead. It was as if an invisible force was pulling at him, beckoning him to come closer. And he mindlessly obeyed, following its call. Just like the lamb into the slaughterhouse. Deeper and deeper into the unknown darkness. 

Until he finally looked up and found himself in a place he had no recollection of walking towards. It felt like snapping out of a dream, his mind suddenly very clear as he looked around. Panic tightening his chest as he could not see the path he was supposed to be walking on, as he realized he had never been in this place before and no way to retrace his steps back to the road if he could not even remember how he had gotten here in the first place. And there it was. That shadow. Waiting for him, the poor bait it had lured in. Standing in the middle of a circle of stones. A cloaked figure, all tall and strong, looking almost familiar in an unsettling way.

Carefully he stepped closer, drawn to it, even though part of him wanted nothing more than to turn around run away. Far away from this place, far away from this thing. It was dangerous, his mind was screaming. It was not safe for him. And yet he could not stop himself from walking towards it, it’s force stronger than anything he’d witnessed before. 

Slowly the figure turned around and he saw white hair, yellow eyes and… no this was not possible.

“Geralt?”

Was this a hallucination? Hypothermia setting in? It had to be. There was no other explanation for this. He had to be dreaming. Or perhaps the ale he’d drunk in the inn the day before was spoiled. But he didn’t drink too much, that he could say with certainty. After all he could barely afford the one glass he had. But he had needed something to warm him up after spending days out in the cold. No it could not be. That ale had been so watered down he still felt scammed for the amount of coin he paid for it.

There was no answer from that thing. It just kept looking at him, looking at him very intently with those yellow eyes that were familiar and yet so different. Almost as if it was studying him, the sorry state he was in. It was creeping him out.

It did not help that he was certain by now that this was not Geralt. It could not be. And yet it bore an uncanny resemblance. Almost good enough to fool him. But not quite. He knew Geralt, spend more than a decade by his side. He knew him so well that he would always know if it was the real Witcher standing before him or not.

“What are you?” He tried to keep the fear out of his voice as much as possible and he voiced his question.

“Does it really matter to you what I am?” It smirked, baring his teeth to him in a way that almost seemed threatening.

And the worst of it was that it was right. It did not matter what it was. If it was good or bad. Some monster or deity ruling over this place. Whatever it was it had the upper hand. He was all alone, deep in the woods, lost and probably days away from any civilization. It could kill him if it wanted to and no one would even notice. His corpse would be rotting into this cursed earth, vanishing into nothingness and no one would care. No one would ever know what became of him. The once so famous bard traveling at his Witcher’s side. Disappeared forever. Yet another rotten corpse in no man’s land. And oh what a depressing realization that was.

Though he was not sure if it really wanted to kill him. If it wanted to do it, wouldn’t it have done so already? There was no sense in this disguise. No sense in luring him here. To this unholy altar of damnation and despair. No sense in talking to him, in mocking him so unfairly. There was no sense in doing all of it if it just wanted to see him death. It could have killed him without him even noticing it. Unless it was something entirely different that it craved.

It stepped towards him and it took all his willpower not to flinch back, to stand his ground and foolishly prove that he was not as afraid as he felt deep inside.

“Don’t be afraid. I don’t want to kill you.” It caressed his cheek, almost lovingly and he cursed his body for the uncertainly of whether he should lean into the touch or recoil from it.

It was unsettling. How much it looked like him, how much it somehow managed to act like him. And most frightening of all was how much he still craved Geralt’s touch. Even after all this time he seemed to be willing to give in so easily, despite knowing that this was nothing but another illusion.

And it laughed. Laughed at him in that deep, deep voice that almost matched Geralt’s. The voice that was sending shivers of need down his spine. It was as if that thing could read his mind. It probably could. Or how else would it have found out which form to take to lure him in. 

“I know what you want, what you need, little bard. I am here for you, here to give you what you desire.”

“And what do you want in return?”

He was no fool. That thing wanted something. Something it needed his consent for. It could not just take it from him. Or why else would it give him that show. How funny. Here they were. Both craving something so desperately. And yet he felt suddenly like he was the one in power. It depended on him. On his decision.

“Don’t you worry about that. I won’t harm you or take anything you’re not willing to give. Just surrender to me, bard. Give me strength. And I will give you the thing you crave most. I promise.” It beckoned quietly, a very knowing smile on its face.

It knew exactly what he wanted, what he had desired for all those years, and how easy it would be to lure him in. How his desperation was still big enough, despite having had all those months to get used to the thought that what he craved would never be his.

Not that there was much of a choice left for him anyways. Whatever this thing wanted, it was certainly better than freezing to death alone between the trees. Where was he even supposed to go? He was so far astray from the path he would never be able to find his way back to it in this darkness. In the end it boiled down to a simple decision. Certain death or giving that thing whatever it wanted and have at least a chance at living. And if choosing that thing meant he would get one night with Geralt he would gladly take. If it killed him afterwards then he would at least die a happier man.

And so he nodded. Consented to its touch. Despite knowing this was not the real Geralt, that this was something else. Something ancient, something evil. And yet he gave it permission to do whatever it wanted. Let it touch him. Let it put its hands on him, feeling them move over his body, groping him almost as if he was livestock to be sold at the market.

It was sickening how far his sorrow had driven him. Turning him into a heartbroken mess, so desperate for comfort. So desperate for his touch. Geralt’s touch. Geralt’s love. Desperate enough to let this thing try to fuck his cravings right out of him.

“Well you are a needy one, little bard. So why don’t you show me your beautiful body.” 

It taunted him. Played with him, wanted him to feel the stabbing pain of those words penetrating his heart. Giving him the words he wanted to hear out of Geralt’s mouth. The words the real one would never speak to him.

Not that it mattered what the real Geralt would do or not do. He was not there. And he was too desperate to care. He wanted this, wanted Geralt. For so long. And since he could never have him he would have to accept the next best thing. Which was whatever deity that ruled those woods apparently. How low he had sunken. Unwilling to be a whore for common men but willing enough for a monster.

Slowly he started to undress, not even caring about the freezing air around them. It was almost as if he was in that trace again, so lost in his longing that he did not even feel the cold on his skin. He was just like a puppet for this thing. Obeying its every wish. 

Naked and bare he stood before it, allowed it to roam its hands over his naked body. There were large and strong, just like Geralt’s, and the thought of Geralt — the real one — touching him like this was enough to make him harden. It was enough to make him not feel the freezing cold around them. There were only the burning hot hands on his skin and the pulsing blood between his legs.

He could pretend. If only for this night. That he was not bedding some monster, some faceless entity. That this was his Geralt instead, that he would finally claim him in a way he wished for the entire past decade. That it was Geralt kissing him, plunging his tongue into his mouth until he had no air to breathe left. That it was Geralt putting his hands on him, touching, gripping, leaving bruises in their wake.

And it felt good, so, so good. Geralt’s strong hand on his throat, squeezing, holding him in place as his rough fingers teased his body, stroking, pinching, until they finally closed around his cock in an iron grip that bordered on pain. A grip that made him moan like a wanton whore, chasing the pleasure that came with it. Until those hands released him and he whined pitifully at their loss.

“On you knees, bard.” It was an order, leaving to room for disobedience.

And he did did not even hesitate a second. Immediately he complied, falling to his knees in a smooth motion, obeying every single word that came out of the creature’s mouth.

“What a good boy you are. So good for your Witcher.”

He couldn’t help the needy moan that escaped his throat at hearing the creature’s praise. It was shameful how much he craved to hear those words out of Geralt’s mouth. How his deepest desires became the perfect feeding ground for that thing.

Stroking his hair its hand came to rest on his cheek, fingers softly grazing his flesh in a movement that could almost be described as tender.

“You know, we are not that different. Your Witcher and I. Humans both wish us dead. Monsters we are to them. But don’t we have the same right to survive as they do? What I give to them are their fantasies. The depravities of their mind are not my fault. And yet they are too ashamed to admit their shameful desires. But you are not, bard, aren’t you. You stand proud before me, showing me willingly what you crave. What an admirable strength.”

He wanted to almost laugh in the creature’s face. Right into Geralt’s face, the face it was wearing. It called him strong. Strong, when he was nothing but a weak nuisance to him. But it was right in one thing. This was his fantasy. He had conjured this depravity right out of the depths of his mind. 

“You want this, don’t you? To spread your legs for your Witcher just like a common whore andchoke on his cock.”

Shame colored his cheeks but that thing was right again. He did want to feel that magnificent cock. In every way possible. After all it had been the subject of all of his wet dreams. He might never have Geralt’s love. But he could have at least this pretense of a fuck. The bitter reality was that in the end he’d rather pretend to be Geralt’s whore than face the reality that he was nothing to him. 

“Yes…”

“You are my good boy aren't you, bard?”

“Yes Geralt.”

“Then open your mouth for me!” It ordered. Again. And he obeyed. Again. Just like the good boy he wanted to be.

Choking on it as it filled his throat, thick and heavy. Tears in his eyes as he struggled to breathe around it, gasping for air around the thickness blocking his airway. It was not gentle, held his hair with an iron grip as it fucked into his mouth without any mercy, pushing deep inside, barely leaving him any chance to catch his breath. Spit was running down his chin, dripping down in messy strings and vanishing in the dirt. He did not care. And neither did it, for it did not slow down. If anything it probably got off on seeing the tears pooling in his eyes and the choking sound leaving his bruised throat. 

And yet there was this part of him that enjoyed this torture, enjoyed the pain. It only seemed a fitting punishment. Was it not his throat that always got him into so much trouble? Was it not his throat, home to his voice, that ruined the only good thing he ever had in his life? It was only fair for it to become so bruised he was sure he would not be able to speak for days.

He had no desire speak anymore, no desire to sing those painful songs. A cursed remembrance of their shared time. Pitiful yearning for a past he had long lost. There was no desire in him to perform. Not when that itself was the biggest torture he had no strength left to endure. Perhaps that thing sensed it, perhaps it did it on purpose so he got a proper reason for his silence.

A broken whine at the loss as it finally decided it had enough of his mouth and pulled out. What a sight he must be, kneeling naked and bare upon this altar of despair. Spit and cum clinging to his bruised lips, mouth still gaping open by the phantom stretch of a cock long gone.

“You did so well for me, bard. Such a good boy for me.” It praised as it petted his hair, smiling as it saw how its praise made his cock leak.

“So responsive I might want to keep you forever. You would like that wouldn’t you. Being mine forever.”

He barely heard what it was saying, floating on the rush of pleasure running though his body at hearing all that praise. Oh what would he give for Geralt being the one praising him, claiming him as his.

By the time he ended up on his hands and knees, face buried in the dirt as he was stretched and oiled and fucked like a cheap whore he couldn’t even remember the orders or how much time had passed. Only the pleasure of his fantasy that Geralt was manhandling him. That thing grabbed at his hair again, pulling his head back uncomfortably, searching for leverage, as it pounded into him like there was no tomorrow. There was no gentleness, no soft touches. Only the hard cock filling him in a pace so brutal he was shaking, the stretch almost too much for him to handle.

It was better that he didn’t have to see _it_ , didn’t have to see the coldness in those yellow eyes that mimicked Geralt’s. Those beautiful eyes he would never see again. He would never find out how being with Geralt would feel like. He would never find out what his kisses would taste like. All that he had was the taste of dirt in his mouth. Ashes and bitterness.

Yet he wondered if the real Geralt would also be like this. So rough. Taking his pleasure without mercy, in a bruising pace a human could barely withstand. Asserting his dominance over him. Perhaps he would. He possessed the strength after all. How could he know. It was not like he had experienced the real thing. Perhaps the real Geralt would even be disgusted by his fantasies, by the depravity of his deepest needs. It did not matter. What mattered was the cock inside him, reducing him to a screaming mess. His bruised throat protesting the sounds that left him until the only thing that could leave it were quiet and hoarse moans.

It was agony. Bittersweet pain rushing through his body. And yet he had never been harder in his life. A twisted pleasure, the only thing he deserved.

“You love this, don’t you bard. Being split apart by your Witcher’s cock.”

His shameful moan was answer enough. As was his leaking cock, beads of fluid dripping steadily to the ground, a visual proof of his arousal. As twisted as this was, he did get off on it. There was no reason for him to lie and deny it.

He was nothing more but a hole for it. A hole to gain pleasure from, to consume his energy. And like the proper whore he was, he had greedily spread his legs for it. After all it had been generous enough to offer him something in return. The fulfillment of his fantasy. Bringing him as close to the real thing as he would ever get.

There would be only this thing. Consuming him until it was satisfied, until it had its fill and he was nothing more but a shell of himself. A willing sacrifice upon this forbidden altar of darkness.

Shame filled him as he came without even having his cock touched, the fullness he felt inside him soon being replaced by gawking emptiness as that thing seemed to have vanished into thin air.As if it never existed, as if he had only conjured it out of the depths of his own mind to fulfill his twisted fantasies. The thick fluid leaking out of him the only remainder that this was not just a corrupted dream.

Naked as he still was, he collapsed into the dirt, curling up to protect himself against the freezing temperatures. He knew he should get up and search for his clothes, or at least his cloak, anything to protect him against the elements. But he had no strength left. That thing had drained him, robbed him of the power to even move just one muscle, his exhausted body only weakly shivering as the cold wind blew over his sweat drenched skin.

Fatigue claimed him. He was tired. So, so tired. Feeling such a deep exhaustion, it seemed as if that thing stole his entire strength. It probably did. Took what it needed without any care for him. And yet he could not bring himself to care. After all he did allow it, even enjoyed the twisted pleasure that came with it.

It had been right, he realized. It took what it needed to survive, but it was him who provided the source for it to feast upon. It was his wish to be fucked so deeply he was barely conscious at the end. It was him who craved this rough handling. It was him who enjoyed the pleasurable pain of being manhandled by a Witcher, being stretched to his limits by the sheer thickness of a cock nearly too big to be handled.

Now that it was over there was only one thing he wanted. Sleep. Right here, bare and discarded. Lost in the middle of this cursed forrest. Alone, with no one around him. No one to protect him, no one to comfort him. He just wanted to rest, if only for a few moments. Until he regained some strength to move again, until he had enough energy to start looking for his clothes and a way out of his place. But not yet. He could lie here for a while, rest, forget the cruelty of the world around him. There was nothing left for him anyways. No place where he was welcome. Nowhere else he needed to be.

Instead he felt himself drifting, into another world, a world where he was happy. Lost in a dream of amber eyes, gazing upon him with warmth and love. Of strong arms around his body, protecting him against the harsh cold trying to find its way into his bones. Soft kisses on his hair, his skin, his lips. A deep voice soothing him. And the lullaby of a slow heart beating underneath his ear. He almost felt safe and loved —

— until it all faded into nothingness.

_Memories weigh on the soul like lead,  
_ _Its rancorous broodings will not stop.  
_ _In the breast no love - of faith not a drop,_  
_Nor a hope that from the sleep of the dead  
_ _A decent man can yet be waken_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for the first part. I hope you enjoyed reading this angst fest. And if you did I would be as happy as any author if you toss some kudos or comments at me. :D
> 
> Either way stay tuned for part two featuring Jaskier and yet another very bad not good day, the real™ Geralt, angry BAMF Jaskier, protective Geralt, Roach riding, some long-overdue apologies and finally a proper dicking for Jaskier.
> 
> Also feel free to hit me up on tumblr (@feedingmyinsomia) for more AUs about those two idiots who have taken over my life. I don't bite and I would love to fangirl with y'all.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, this Fix-It™ is done! Or the rare occasion in which I'm not happy to leave it at a purely angsty and unhappy ending. I hope you do enjoy this long chapter and the first meeting of Jaskier and Geralt since the mountain incident.
> 
> The verses in the beginning and end are again taken from Botev poems and loosly translated.
> 
> And as always English is not my first language so please be kind.

_Love has lost its former glow_  
 _Don’t you wake it in my breast_  
_Where only sorrows grow_  
 _Wounds and sores and and heavy cares_  
 _In a heart that rancor bears_

It was Geralt.

Fucking Geralt of Rivia.

Of all the people showing up in same godawful village in the middle of nowhere he dragged himself into with the last of his strength, it had to be him. Him, who showed up and ruined his plans of resting and relaxing for one night. 

So much for the happiness he had felt at the prospect of sleeping in a real bed after weeks on the road and the joy of taking perhaps even a bath if the innkeeper didn’t charge too much coin for that. All of his hopes vanishing with the slamming of the door and a too-familiar figure entering the small inn. He would always recognize him. Despite his face being covered in the shadows of the massive cloak he was wearing, despite his white hair being stained by mud, blood and gore of whatever creature he’d slain before. All those years watching him and studying the way he walked, the way he carried those masses of muscle, paying off as he barely needed to look at him to know who he was. Each movement so typical for Geralt was still ingrained in his brain. And there it would stay until the day he died. Yet another cursed memory to add upon all the others.

And here he thought his life would finally take a turn into a better direction. Obviously that was not the case since all it took was Geralt showing up and reminding him once more how much of a shit show his life still was. And how much being in his presence actually still affected him. There was no sense in lying to himself and pretending that he was getting any better. He was still the same lovesick fool he’d been for the past decade.

Now it seemed even more like everything he’d done so far had been in vain. All the effort for nothing. Even though he had done such a good job at avoiding the Witcher in the past. Almost two years of not seeing him anywhere. Staying away from any village or town when people mentioned the possible presence of a Witcher, of Geralt specifically. Or places with known monster infestations, as they, too, were certain to attract him sooner or later. Then again it was also a benefit for his own personal safety to remain as far as possible from any kind of evil things that would certainly kill him without someone protecting him. Keeping to side roads he knew Geralt would probably never use was another thing he did to avoid him. Wasting weeks by traveling through dark forests and abandoned villages with the same hope as a naive child to find perhaps a place where he could belong one day. If he didn’t die on the road before he reached that imaginary place, which seemed more and more likely with every passing day.

Still he kept going on his lonesome path, refusing to acknowledge how foolish all of this was, telling himself, it was better to be safe than sorry. And safe meant only for him to avoid Geralt at any cost. Anything else didn’t matter. The Witcher wanted him to stay away, and if he wanted it so badly he would, of course, oblige his wishes and never stray into close proximity to him again. Making his choice instead to stay away as far as possible. In fact after everything that happened, he would have preferred for the distance of the entire continent to be between them. As much of a separation as there could be. 

He didn’t want to see him, or be near him. Never again.

Not when he finally felt like he could start getting over him. 

_Fucking lies._

He was nowhere near getting over him. 

His dreams still consisted of the Witcher more often than they did not. How utterly cruel of his mind to continue torturing him with those nice dreams of a future that could be never his. By now it started to make him feel sick every time he woke up. Or perhaps it was the huger. Or the lack of decent food on the road. Not that it mattered. Not when all it did was fuel the anger boiling inside of him. And angry he was. So, so very angry, Geralt had discarded him, had not cared for him at any point during their travels. Discarded him like a piece of horse shit on the bottom of his boot the moment he found someone better. And yet there he was, pining like a lovesick puppy even years later. Fucking pathetic.

A lifetime of bad choices and hope to be loved one day. And where did it lead him? To this shithole of a place, paying more than he could afford for rotten food and the most watered-down ale he’d encountered in his life. And to the Witcher who was now forcing him to abandon his barely touched meal too soon for another freezing night on the road. 

He was tempted to turn back and head in the direction of the ancient forest. To search for the cursed altar right in the middle of it and call upon that thing again — that strange creature, whose encounter still haunted him even months later — and beg it to finally take his life. A sacrifice to an entity, he could neither name nor decide if it had been good or evil, as a desperate last attempt to gain some purpose. He would even let it fuck him again, for a second time, in hope it might actually work and banish Geralt from his head and heart. Clearly the first time had failed spectacularly at that.

The Witcher kept dominating his thoughts day and night. If anything, sleeping with it had just made it worse. Truth be told he was surprised he survived that encounter. He wouldn’t have put it past that thing to ignore its promise and still kill him once it was done with him. When his eyes closed he fell asleep with the assumption that this would be the moment of his death.

What a wondrous shock it was to wake up to daylight, still alive and somehow more rested than he’d been in months. And remarkably not frozen to death, which was quite a surprise. If it weren’t for the fact that he had been stark naked and completely drenched in his release and whatever fluids that thing had left on and inside of him he would have thought the entire night was just another twisted dream. But he had enough proof on his body to realize quickly that it had been real.

As he got up he did not only have to deal with the dull ache between his legs but also with the lingering confusion as to how he survived the night in those temperatures that were barely above the freezing point. And why he was still not feeling the cold air that surely must be around him, judging by the frost on the ground. 

He should have died, that much he was certain of. His body had been already weakened to begin with. But aside from his miraculous awakening what he should have felt was just more exhaustion. The strain of tired muscles after miles of walking and a hard fucking. The inability to get up and leave that place. And yet he felt better than he did before. Stronger, the bleary tiredness gone from his bones. He felt weirdly alive. And healthy, healthier than a man his age should be, healthier than he was in his youth. 

At first he blamed it on the lingering adrenaline. After all there had to be a reasonable explanation as to how he was able to survive sleeping naked in the frost and just continue on his path without catching even a simple cold. 

It was just as easy to blame it on the time he spend with Geralt. Years of sleeping outside in the cold must have hardened him somehow. It didn’t matter that he had furs and blankets while traveling with Geralt. And that the Witcher was sharing the warmth of his body with him, keeping him safe and comfortable. 

No, it had to be something different, something he didn’t dare question for the answer scared him more than living in denial that something did happen that night. Something did change inside of him, he felt it, and it scared him more than he wanted to admit.

No matter what he did to his body, no matter the amount of meals he skipped, his body stayed strong, never succumbing to sickness. His health should have dwindled alongside his muscles with the lack of nutrients he was getting. And yet it did not, allowing him to continue on his restless path as if he shouldn’t have been bedridden long ago. And he was just as lucky he never did he catch any sort of disease ,despite walking around the cold, dressed in the last rags he owned.

It was strange. But then again why should he care? He was alive. And he would not complain about that. It was a pleasant surprise that he not feeling like shit for once. Physically at least. A vast improvement compared to the the past year and a half. And if his health seemed better than it was before for a man his age and with his unhealthy behaviors he chose to not pay it any attention anymore. It was just easier to keep telling himself that it must have been nothing but the years on the road that hardened him so much, that made him enduring of any hardship.

But just because he was suddenly able to withstand the harshest cold and survive on less food than before it did not mean that he didn’t crave those luxuries. He wanted to sleep in a soft bed, bathe in hot water and clean his body from the accumulated dirt caused by months on the road. And he would have killed for a homemade stew, hot, filling and comforting. 

Unfortunately the food in the tavern proved to be trash, but still the prospect of a bed and a roof over his head excited him for it was better than sleeping the hard and cold soil. At least before Geralt decided to take it from him by showing his face in this place.

And now he was sitting in the same inn as the very man he spend the last years running from. What a wonderful way of destiny to spit into his face. Especially if it meant he had to give up the comfort of a night indoors once more for another few days or weeks on the road until he found the next village he might be able to afford a bed in.

Fucking wonderful.

Keeping his eyes on Geralt he observed himas moved through the inn, finding a place on the other side of the room, thankfully very far from him. And he had not noticed him yet. Which meant he could plan his exit more carefully and didn’t have to try to stumble past him as quickly as possible.

No, it was wiser to wait for a few more moments, just until Geralt had ordered some food or drink to busy himself with. He would not look at any of the other people in the inn while he ate, preferring to ignore those gazes of fear and disgust thrown at him, so that would be Jaskier’s perfect chance to escape unnoticed. And it gave him an opportunity to get a good look at Geralt. After all he would never see him again and he did not approve of the sting in his heart this thought caused.

Geralt looked tired, he observed, there was a new weariness to him, almost as if he hadn’t rested properly in a while. Knowing him he probably hadn’t. That man truly had no sense of self-preservation. Especially with him not being around. In the past if it hadn’t been for him insisting on it Geralt never bothered to care properly for himself. It seemed like that habit had returned. Not that it was any of his business. Or problem anymore. He was just good at noticing things. Or that’s what he kept telling himself.

Not that he was really in a position to be judgmental. It was quite hypocritical when he was just as bad as Geralt. He probably looked even worse than the Witcher did. And his own sense of self-preservation remained still very debatable. But then again, that never used to be his strength. Witcher by his side or not, he somehow always managed it to get himself into the biggest mess.

He just hoped Geralt would not notice him. But then he looked different now than he did when they last parted. His hair much longer, the dark strands reaching past his chin now and stubble on his face he didn’t bother shaving anymore. Paired with the loss of a decent amount of weight, the lack of proper food clearly visible on his body now that he rarely performed for coin anymore. And he probably smelled far worse than he did during their travels together. 

Sometimes he wished he could afford the well-scented oils and bath salts he used to have in the past. But then again, nowadays he would be just as happy if he could afford a simple bath at all since he didn’t remember when he last got the chance to soak his bruised body in some hot water. And the rivers and streams he used to keep himself as clean as he could only did so much, but in autumn and winter they weren’t of much use. The only advantage to his smell would be in aiding him in his disguise, making his scent hopefully unnoticeable to those keen Witcher senes he knew all too well Geralt had. Paired with the large black cloak swallowing him up as he sat in the corner of the tavern no one paid him any attention. Which was exactly what he wanted. Just a bit of rest before he moved on, brooding once more about his miserable life.

Just like Geralt had when he first met him. What an unlucky coincidence, indeed.

And just like back then in the inn in Posada Geralt paid him no attention. Far away from him, on the other side of the room, the Witcher was all too happy to dig into the disgusting thing the innkeeper dared to call a stew, ignoring everyone and everything else that happened around him. Which suited him just well. The further away they were from each other the less likely he was to be noticed.

And now was the perfect time for him to leave this place. With Geralt being busy eating he would be just another random figure leaving the tavern. Just a shadow on the wall. Nothing too suspicious, nothing that would be of enough interest to ignore the food. Because he knew all too well Geralt needed all the food he could get, as he was prone to skipping meals, too.

Still lamenting the loss of the warm bed for the night he made his way out of the inn. Part of him just wanted to stay, to ignore Geralt and rent a room. But he couldn’t. It was not a good idea to risk staying in the same village as him. It would only end in disaster as he could see himself already having a confrontation with the Witcher sooner or later. And he could not handle bearing the brunt of Geralt’s aggression a second time. Not when his already broken heart was barely any closer to mending itself. Running away from his problem, instead, seemed clearly the better option. After all it was an approach Geralt himself preferred, too. 

With one last quick gaze to the Witcher brooding over his drink he left the warmth of the tavern, shivering as the cold night air hit his skin. He desperately needed to invest into some warmer clothes. Winter was approaching and the rags he was wearing were sporting more ripped seams and holes than he was comfortable with. What he needed most desperately was a new cloak. The old one ripped apart sometime between spring and summer and while he had not needed it during those warmer months he would never survive a winter on the road without it.

Perhaps it was time to head to a bigger town, to whore himself out for some money and a bed for the coming months. It was one of the few options he had left those days as he was not keen to spend another winter on the roads. How else would he earn enough money to survive when he had nothing left to offer but his body. But that was the thought for another time, when he did reach that point. For all the sleeping around he did, he always did it voluntarily, and he was not sure if he could handle warming the bed of another man when his heart still belonged to the Witcher.

Being completely lost in his thoughts about Geralt and a possible solution for his dilemma on how to spend the winter he failed to notice the figure following him through the darkness ever since he left the inn, keeping a safe distance from him. Until he made a faithful turn into a small back alley, unlit and hidden from the views of any other person still on the road during this late hour. And by the time his instincts tried to warn him that something was amiss it was already too late.

A sweaty hand clamped over his mouth, preventing him from screaming for help as he was pushed deeper into the alley and against the wall of a seemingly abandoned house before he even had a chance to react. He tried to struggle against the man once he realized what had happened but it was already too late. The man was bigger than him, weighing probably at least twice as much and no amount of struggling could loosen the iron grip he had on him.

Not that he had much room left to struggle when he felt the sharp blade of a knife pressed to his throat, forcing him to freeze in place and endure whatever would happen. At least until he was able to plan a way out.

“Well, who do we have here?”, the man grinned at him, a smile full of yellow and rotten teeth. “Aren’t you that Witcher’s whore?”

“I’m afraid you mistake me for someone else.” It took all his strength to keep his voice calm, but he did not want to anger the man. Not with a knife to his throat and no chance to escape.

“I don’t think so. I remember you. It’s been a few years but I’ve seen you with him, singing praiseI wonder why he let a pretty boy like you go. Doesn’t he know it’s dangerous to let such a gorgeous thing roam the streets alone? Well, his loss, my luck.”

Those sweaty fingers gripped his chin, holding him in place so the man could get a decent look at him. And it took all his willpower not to be sick as he recognized the way he looked at him. Like he was nothing but some cattle to be bought and used.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not who you think I am,” he tried again but he doubted he would have any success with it. The man probably didn’t even care if he had the right person or not. Just that Jaskier was pretty enough for him to still force himself upon him.

The slap hitting his cheek echoed through the night, proving him right in his assumptions.

“Don’t lie to me! I’ve heard many tales of your whoring over the years.”

Fuck. The man was angry. Exactly what he’d tried to avoid. Failing his first plan of trying to get out of the situation peacefully. Judging by the anger that was sadly not an option anymore. 

“Leave me alone!” He ordered instead, with as much strength as he could put into his voice.

The only thing he got for his outburst was the knife digging deeper into his throat, nicking the skin as he flinched against the sting of pain.

“So you are willing to be a mutant’s whore but refuse a real man?”

“I refuse to be touched by anyone without my consent!” He protested despite knowing very well that this man wouldn’t even care about that. He wanted Jaskier, and he would not stop unless he found a way to get away from him. And his time was running out quickly as the man started groping him. pulling roughly on his clothes to expose some skin.

“Teasing that pretty body around like a whore is enough of consent for me.”, he slurred, the smell of his sour breath invading Jaskier’s senses. “But I’m not sure you’re worth the effort. I bet your hole must be loser than that of any common whore’s. Destroyed by that Witcher’s cock. Must have ruined you for any other man. Tell me, would you dare to refuse him like you refuse me?”

Anger was boiling beneath his skin. How dared this man? How dared he to touch him, to try to force himself upon him? How dared he imply that he was nothing but Geralt’s whore? How dared he degrading him in such a way?

“I am neither his, nor your whore.” His tone was icy as he grit out those words, trying to keep the anger in reigns. It would do him no good to provoke the man. Not with the knife pressed so dangerously against his throat.

The man merely laughed. At him. At his pitiful try of rejecting him. The stench of rotten teeth and spoilt ale burning in his nose. And oh he was so sick and tired of people not taking him seriously. Of people thinking they could just take and take from him without any objection from his side. Mistaking him for an easy target, a cheap whore they could use for their pleasure. Not anymore. It was enough. 

He would not take this anymore.

Using his chance as the man was distracted, he fumbled around until he finally grasped the dagger he kept always hidden beneath his clothes. 

Not even hesitating for one second he pushed the blade deep into the guts of the man, who gasped in surprise. Apparently he did not expect Jaskier to fight back, what an idiot indeed. But he wouldn’t complain about that since the knife that had been held to his neck finally fell to the ground and he was free. Holding onto his dagger for dear life he pulled it out quickly only to stab the man again. And again and again.

“Do…” 

Stab. 

“Not…”

Stab. 

“Touch…” 

Stab. 

“Me…” 

Gritting the words out beneath clenched teeth, the blade buried deep into the chest of thedrunk man one final time as his long dead body finally fell to the ground. Breathing heavily as the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins.

What a picture he must have painted, all alone in the dark alley, clothes torn and drenched in blood, a dead body lying at his feet. Not that he regretted what he’d done. That man had it coming. And he knew their variety all too well. He wouldn’t have stopped until Jaskier was bleeding and broken. Or dead. He doubted the man would have cared much about whether he survived this encounter. No, he got exactly what he deserved. And he would not waste any of his time forcing himself to feel any kind of regret about it. The only slight regret he felt was the one that this situation did complicate things quite a bit for him. As there was a very dead body next to his feet. And he himself was drenched in blood, making it painstakingly obvious that he had been involved in something. 

He needed to leave. Quickly. Before someone noticed what had happened. Or he would be in trouble. Lots of trouble he neither wanted nor needed. That man surely had friends, someone who would miss him sooner or later. As despicable as he was it wouldn’t have surprised Jaskier if he had a wife or children, too. Not that it mattered much, the only thing he was worried about was the fact that they would start searching for the culprit as soon as someone found the corpse. And he needed to be as far away into the woods as he could manage by the time that happened. No matter what monsters lurked there, it still would be safer than this town once people found out what he did to one of them.

Risking a mob’s wrath was not something he wanted to experience. He might have been able to stand his ground against one drunken man, but more than one he could not handle. And who would believe him if he said the man wanted to force himself on him. Not only would they accuse him of lies, they simply wouldn’t care. Most likely they all shared the dead man’s opinion.

That man might have been a horrible person but in one thing he had been right. Jaskier had a reputation, and it was not about to bring him any favors in his current situation. If anything it would make it just worse. He was certain that any blame would be placed on him, on his promiscuous behavior in the past. And he doubted any other brute in this would be willing to let him try to plead his case or defend him.

Pulling his dagger out of the man’s chest he was about to hide it in his waistband when he heard footsteps approaching. Breathing heavily he clutched it in his hand so hard it was almost painful, trying to brace himself for a second round of defending himself. And if it was more then just one man that came for him he would at least die fighting. 

But there was no angry mob coming for him. Only one cloaked figure stepping in the alley he was currently standing in. Meaning his chances at surviving this ordeal and getting away suddenly improved a lot. At least until the figure spoke up. And he heard a voice addressing him that he hadn’t heard in more than a year.

“Jaskier! Are you all right?”

It was Geralt. Fucking Geralt, with his uncanny ability to always be at the wrong places during the wrong time. So much for his plan to slip away unnoticed and be long gone and on his way before Geralt even realized that they had been coincidentally in the same place. He should have known that he couldn’t fool a Witcher, that he’d probably known it was him the moment he entered the tavern. But why would he follow him? Why would he show himself now when he could have just ignored him? And truth be told he didn’t know if he should feel any sort ofrelief or just more anger at his appearance. 

Well at least _he_ wouldn’t try to kill him. So he had that going for him. And he would take Geralt over an outraged mob any day. There wouldn’t be much additional trouble in dealing with him and it shouldn’t cause much of a delay to his planned exit. After all there was no reason to stay in his presence any longer. Not when Geralt probably already wished himself as far away as possible.

And yet there was something nagging him. Was that panic he detected in the Witcher’s voice? Fear for him, perhaps? No, it had to be his imagination. Some cursed wishful thinking. Geralt didn’t care about him. He never did and he never would.

“Go away Geralt. I don’t want your help! I don’t need you to save me!” He grit out instead as he had absolutely no desire to show any weakness in front of him. 

“I see that,” Geralt mentioned dryly, looking at the mangled body to their feet, ”but that’s not what I asked. Did he hurt you?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Jask—“

“It’s just a few bruises Geralt. Nothing that hasn’t happened to me before.” 

He pretended not to notice the displeasure on Geralt’s face at his words. Whatever the reason for it was, he did not want to think about. Perhaps he was unhappy that this guy didn’t manage it to kill him after all. To come so close to the fulfillment of his deepest desire must not be enjoyable. After all he had to deal with him bothering him again. Just another reason to make haste and rid Geralt of having to continue seeing him. 

“I’m glad.” Geralt said some moments later and he had to bite his tongue to keep the laugh from leaving his mouth.

That must have been a hallucination. An adrenaline fueled fragment of his imagination. Or some wishful thinking. In no way Geralt would care about him, not after what he’d said.

“Thank you for being so considerate. Well it was nice seeing you again, but I’m afraid I must leave you now. Goodbye Geralt. I’ll try not to end up in your way again.”

He was just about to walk past him and vanish into the night when Geralt put up his hand, holding him back and preventing him from leaving.

“No.” Geralt stated, tightening his grip around him slightly to keep him from running away.

Blinking confused at him he could only get out a “What?”

“You can’t go alone. It's too dangerous. Something is near us, something that is not human. I can feel it in my medallion.”

“Well I’m sure you’re absolutely capable of handling that issue on your own. I’m not really interested in staying around and finding out what that thing might be.”

There was no way he was sticking around when some monsters were near. He might have had his occasional fits of stupidity but not today. One near death experience was absolutely enough for one night.

“Don’t be stupid. It's very near. You are not fast enough on foot to escape it. And sooner or later someone will find him, too. There will be more people starting to follow your trail. We need to make a good head start now, try to disappear before they come after you.”

“Then I will deal with it. Just like I have before. I still fail to understand how this is any of your problem?”

”Please, come with me for now. We need to get away from here, faster than you can go on foot. I have Roach here. We can ride to another village, rest for a night to keep them off your trail. We don’t have much time before someone notices what’s happened. I promise you that you can be angry at me later, if you want to. Or leave. Anything. Just let us get away. _Please, Jask._ ”

Geralt was pleading. 

How utterly stunning. 

In all those years there was only one time where he had pleaded someone. Years ago when he had begged for his life in front of Yennefer. But other than that he did not beg, did not plead. Never. And as much as he hated to admit it, Geralt did have a point. He needed to get away, as quickly as possible. Sooner or later someone would stumble across the dead body and then all hell would break loose. And he rather would be some towns away when that happened.

“Alright. Let’s leave then.” His reluctance was still very noticeable but so was also the realization that Geralt was his only chance of getting out of this situation without too much of a trouble. Going with him would save him for now and he could always leave as soon as they were a safe distance from this village he already vowed never to set a foot in again.

“Wait. What about your lute?”

He had to stop the bitter laugh from escaping his throat. Right. Geralt had never seen him without it during their time together. It was obvious he would ask about his one priced possession. Yeah, where was it indeed? Smashed to pieces somewhere on the road between this place and that godforsaken mountain. Not that he wanted to elaborate on that, not when it was still too painful to even think about it. The last remainder of his lost life.

“I don’t have it anymore.”

If Geralt was surprised at that statement he did not show it. Which was for the better since he was not really in the mood to explain it. Or anything else for that matter. The only thing he wanted was to get away from this place. And then get away from the Witcher himself.

A heavy cloak was suddenly dropped around his shoulders, protecting his skin against the cold of the night. And hiding the blood stains all over him. Making him unnoticeable. It was still warm and smelled so wonderfully like Geralt that he couldn’t help himself but pull it tighter around himself, soaking up the warmth and the calming scent overpowering even the nauseating smell of the blood that clung to his skin. How could a worn piece of wool give him that much comfort in the matter of seconds? 

If only there wasn’t the anger continuing to burn inside his chest. The still existing rage of having been discarded so cruelly by Geralt. What was the purpose of this weird behavior? Why did he even bother helping him if he hated him so much? All those lonely months he had spend trying to nurse his broken heart. Only to have the barely healed wound be torn apart again. 

And then there was this fucking man, trying to force himself upon him. Just because he mistook him for an easy target, thought he would just let any random man stick his cock inside of him.

It was true, he slept around. But he did it willingly. There was no harm in that. And it did not mean he would fuck every single person walking up to him. Or that people could just take what they wanted from him and use his body without his consent. Well that man would not walk up to anyone anymore. He made sure of that. And he could not help the satisfaction that he felt at walking past the crumpled, dead body in the dirt.

He was not weak, in fact, he was very much able to defend himself. He didn’t need Geralt to come and take care of his problems. Showing him tonight what he was capable of by dealing with this scum all on his own. And that was pretty damn satisfying.

He could have handled it to leave the village on his own, too, that much he wanted to believe in. He was not weak, and yet he let Geralt drag him to where Roach was waiting, falling all too easily back into the old dynamic of feeling safe and protected in the Witcher’s presence. He let Geralt help him onto the saddle before he climbed on, too, sitting right behind him as he urged her to ride off into the darkness.

Whatever was lurking in the darkness must have been strong enough to let Geralt fear for his safety. There was no other explanation as to why he was allowed to ride on Roach again. He could count the very few times he had this honor in the past decade on the fingers of his hands. And this would certainly be his last time.

The ride to the next village, which was deemed safe enough to stop in by Geralt, took longer than he expected. They passed several small settlements but they didn’t stop. Either the places were too close to the other village, or too dangerous to stay in. At least that’s what Geralt’s instincts seemed to tell him. Jaskier failed to notice any difference between them. A bunch of houses and empty streets. Just like every other place. But considering their safety Geralt had always been stubborn and there was no sense in arguing with him. In addition, every mile further away was a mile less he had to walk later and his aching feet were thankful for that. 

What a wonderful dilemma he found himself in now. Under any other circumstances, he might have been happy to share a long ride with Geralt, feeling his body behind him warming him and holding him, the strong hand pressed on his stomach keeping him in place. But not with the anger boiling deep inside him. Not with the rage that was burning so steadily.

Had this chance meeting occured many months ago he might have been happier to see Geralt, might have jumped straight into his arms in desperation. Pathetic. The Witcher did not deserve such an easy forgiveness. Not after everything that had happened. Not when he still did not seem to understand how much he had hurt him.

After riding almost through the entire rest of the night they finally spotted a bigger village in the distance, one that was just starting to fill with life as dawn was approaching. And apparently, this one was finally safe enough as Geralt steered Roach through the narrow street until they reached an inn.

Leaving him no time to disagree, Geralt took him inside, paying for a room, with food and wine for a private meal before leading him right upstairs. How weirdly generous of him. And he was in no place to protest any of this. At least not if he did not want to cause a scene and attract more attention to himself than he would like to. 

Well he could stay for a while, he mused. At least for the food and drink. It would be stupid of him to refuse it when it was already paid for. Plus it would give him some much-needed strength for the road. And why would he let this generosity go to waste? He might have been angry, but he was not an idiot. Not knowing when he would next get something to eat it was only reasonable to take everything that was offered.

Choosing to stay and eat had been a wise choice as the stew in front of him tasted heavenly. Greedily he dug into his meal, not even letting one drop of it go to waste. It was warm and comforting and much to his sadness he finished it far too quickly. Not that it was a surprise, with it being the first rich meal he had in months. It did manage it to soothe the hunger inside him, for which he was thankful. And it would give him the strength to continue walking on.

Once done with the food he grabbed the glass of wine off the table, not even caring about the smears his bloody fingers were leaving on it, draining in one go instead, relishing in its bitter flavor as it seemed to ground him back to reality. In addition, it had the benefit of removing, together with the stew, the taste of death from his tongue.

And as nice as all of this had been, the time for him to leave had come. He had probably already overstayed his welcome by eating most of the food Geralt had ordered. There was no need to bother him with his presence any longer.

“Thank you for the food. But I think now it’s time for me to go. I will be out of your way in a moment,” he said as he got up and tried to make his way to the door. 

“Stay.”

“Shut up! I’m not you puppet to command.”

Perhaps he was unfair to him, perhaps it was not appropriate to snap at him if he had done nothing but help him. But then again if Geralt hadn’t been so cruel to him on the mountain top he wouldn’t have found himself in this situation. A shadow of his former self. The Witcher was just as much to blame for everything that had happened. And he could not buy his affections with a bowl of stew and a roof over his head for a night.

“Please, let me help you clean up and check for any injuries at least. You can’t walk out like that.” Geralt tried again, seemingly unbothered by his outburst.

And again he did have a point in that. Geralt’s cloak was the only thing protecting him. His own clothes underneath being drenched in blood and close to slipping off. And he was left to wonder since when Geralt turned into the voice of reason?

“Fine.”, he agreed. He was not in the mood to fight Geralt on this. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner he could be on his way. “Whatever. If it makes you happy.”

“Thank you.” Gerald said softly as he filled a bowl with some water and sat down next to him.

Carefully he pulled Jaskier's shirt away, removing the bloody and torn remnants of it. Not that this cautiousness helped much, as the already mangled material gave in easily and fell into shreds. He was probably lucky it had held out this long. Cursed be his assaulter for ruining his last piece of clothing. One that would have otherwise lasted him for at least another month or two. Until he had time to purchase a new one. Now he had another problem on his hands that required a quick solution.

Geralt took a wet cloth and carefully cleaned the blood from his skin. Methodically, taking him time to ensure he was not hurting him any further. Until he was cleaned up and there was nothing left to see but the many bruises decorating his body. A variety of colors blossoming against his otherwise pale skin. Some older, some newer. But no broken skin, save for the cut the knife left on his neck, which was already starting to heal. 

He was surprised at the gentleness Geralt showed him, cleaning him up and disinfecting the wound on his neck. God knows where that knife had been before it cut him and he was not keen to get an infection from it. But Geralt was so tender that Jaskier barely felt the sting of whatever potion he used. And he almost wanted to melt into him, into those fingers touching him with such a care no one ever showed him before. Unconsciously he wanted to drag out this moment longer, just to keep feeling those gentle caresses for as long as he could. It had been too long since someone had touched him so carefully, almost as if he was made of glass. And he missed it. Soft touches and intimacy had been denied to him for so long, he craved it more than desperately. 

If only there wasn’t the anger boiling still inside of him. The anger caused by the past years on the road, the lack of humanity people showed him and the brutalities he was forced to endure. And the anger he felt against Geralt for sending those mixed signals. For being so cruel to him in the past and torturing him now with this moment of tenderness before he would surely shove him away again. And it only made the waves of confusion rolling through his body even worse.

He finally had what he had craved for so long. Geralt’s gentle touch on his body. And it felt so good, better than he’d ever dreamed of as he tried to soak up as much as he could before he would continue to starve himself of any kind of physical contact. Yet part of him wanted to recoil from it, telling him his touch was not welcome anymore. Not after what he did. But that would have been a lie. Because after everything that had passed, after all this shit he’d been through, he still craved this like the pathetic touch-starved whore he was.

He was painfully aware of Geralt’s hands still resting on his body, even after all the blood and dirt was gone from his skin, the cotton cloth and water thoroughly soiled by it. And yet Geralt did not let go of him. This was bound to end in disaster if it continued. His heart was pounding in his chest, a mixture of leftover adrenaline and being in such an intimate position. And he was sure Geralt must be able to hear it, to feel his pulse thrumming beneath his flushed skin.

“You’re thinner.” Geralt stated bluntly and he couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Being tactful had never been the Witcher’s strength and it seemed like he hadn’t not learned much during their separation.

“It’s not that easy to pay for food when you don’t have a way to earn coin.”

“Last I remembered your songs were quite popular.”

“Oh and when was that? Right, before a certain dragon hunt. You might not remember but people rather tossed spoiled goods than coin towards me before I met you. And it wasn’t much different now that there are no more tales to be told. You could say that there is a certain lack of a Witcher’s adventures in my life. And it’s not like people want to hear the heartbreaking tales of a person too fucked up to be loved.”

“You’re not—“

“Don’t you dare to tell me what I am or am not. It’s not your place!” Pushing Geralt’s hand from his body he jumped up, not being able to handle another second being so close to him. Instead, he chose to pace around the room, trying to think about how to handle this entire situation he’s found himself in by agreeing to join Geralt in his room.

“I apologize,” was Geralt’s answer after a while, spoken so calmly as if it hadn’t bothered him the slightest that he had yelled at him.

“Well that’s a first,” he retorted, finding it very hard to hold his anger back once he started to let it all out. “Who would have known you have that word in your vocabulary.”

At least Geralt had the decency to show a semblance of shame. Well that was certainly a first, too. Two miracles he witnessed in one night, it was almost unbelievable. Paired with the utter calmness the Witcher displayed he was left to wonder what happened that changed him so much. The Geralt of the past would have yelled at him, would have kicked him out. The one sitting before him tried to change the topic of the conversation instead to avoid the uncomfortable turn it was taking.

“You might want a bath. I can only do so much with water and a cloth.”

What a nice suggestion indeed. A bath. Oh, how he would love to take one. To wash the disgusting touch of his assaulter away. If only he could afford one. Which he, unfortunately, could not. Geralt surely must have noticed it, considering whatever smell clung to his body must have been even worse for a sensitive Witcher’s nose. And as if he would let Geralt try to ignore everything he had said. Not a chance. He couldn’t control himself anymore. All those words he wanted to say for the past years wanting to spill out. And he did not see any reason to contain them anymore. Geralt had wanted so desperately to bring him here, now he would be the one who needed to listen to what he had to say.

“I’ll keep that in mind for the next willing man I’ll seek out. Perhaps I will find one that would like his whore to be clean.” It was a low blow, but it was satisfying to see the pain in Geralt’s eyes for once.

“Jaskier please.”

“Please what?”

“You don’t have to do that. You can keep this room, I can call for a bath so you can clean up properly.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want it. I don’t want anything from you. I don’t need anything from anyone. The only thing I want right now is to be as far away from you as possible.” That was only half true, as part of him also wished to stay. Not that he would say that out loud. It was not something Geralt needed or deserved to know.

“Jask— I searched for you… ever since that day.”

“And what?” He spat. “You expected I run into your arms as soon as I spotted you? You want me to be happy to see you? Forget about what you did to me now that you finally decided to come after me? After all this time? Sorry to disappoint you, but no. I guess it didn’t occur to you that I might not have wanted to be found.”

“I don’t expect anything from you.” Geralt confessed softly, seeming almost a bit broken from his words.

“Well that makes two of us then.”

He was not about to give in so easily. Geralt deserved to understand what he had caused on the mountain. He claimed to have searched for him but Jaskier was more than doubtful of that. How did it take him almost two years to find him if he was usually so good at tracking?

Instead of answering him Geralt got up and searched around his pack, pulling out one of his shirts, the cleanest by the sight and smell of it.

“Here take this,” he said, holding it out for him to take it. “You can keep it.”

Before everything happened he would have been happy to wear Geralt’s clothes, to wear something that belonged to him, that smelled like him. Now it just made the anger boil even harder inside of him. He would not be bribed by one nice gesture. That much of self-respect he had still left.

“I neither want your charity nor your pity.”  
  
“It’s not pity for fuck’s sake”, Geralt exclaimed, the first real outburst of emotion he showed, “but if you think i will let you walk out of here naked then you’re mistaken. And you can’t wear the bloody scraps that used to be your shirt either. Walking out of here without clothes will only arouse suspicion and I doubt that’s what you want. You can throw this away when you get a new one, but please keep it until then.”

Geralt had a point, that much he could admit to himself. But still, he refused to take the shirt. Perhaps it was his pride. But he did not want to feel like he needed Geralt. He didn’t need his help. No. He would handle this on his own. He was strong enough to do this. And he would find a solution. One that would not require him to rely on Geralt’s charity.

“I will not force you to stay here. If you want to leave you can go, I won’t stop you. But you need something to wear if you don’t want to freeze to death. Please take it, just until you get to the next town safely.”

He almost ripped the shirt out of Geralt’s hands, muttering a “Fine.” before he shoved it aside in favor of taking another sip of wine, letting the bitter taste wash away some of his anger. It was obvious that he would not stop until Jaskier took it and he was not in the mood to order about a shirt. Not when there were other things he wanted to say.

“You know Geralt, it’s funny that I have been called your whore for more than a decade and yet I never actually did what people were accusing me of.”

“I would never do this to you.” Even knowing this he was not prepared for the sting in his heart at Geralt’s outright offended response.

“That’s the fucking point,” he let out a bitter laugh, “and you still don’t get it. I’ve always wanted you Geralt. For years. Decades. And you wouldn’t even look at me, wouldn’t even call me your _friend_. I could have been happy being your friend you know? But I’m not even that. I never was, I get it now, don’t worry. But I’m not your toy, either. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to insult me, to blame me for everything you brought upon yourself! You can’t break my heart so badly I needed to fuck some shapeshifting monster because I can’t get you out of my head. Not that did it anything to help with my problem, fucking waste of time it was. But you certainly don’t get to show up back into my life after everything you did to me and act as nothing happened.”

“You did what?” Geralt exclaimed, eyes widening in shock as he seemed to process the words he had heard.

“Of all the things I said that’s what you want to focus on? Fine.” He retorted, so lost in his rage that he couldn’t care less if Geralt actually wanted to hear this or not. “I went into the woods and came across this thing, creature, whatever. It looked like you and it offered me whatever I wanted. And you know what I did? I let it fuck me? Deep and hard. Are you happy now? I stood before that thing and I just fell on my knees for it, sucked it’s cock until I choked on it and spread my legs for it like a good whore. And you know why, Geralt? Because at that point I was so desperate that I didn’t care what it was! It was enough that it gave me what I craved for the better part of an entire decade, or at least a fantasy of it. Whatever, it doesn’t matter, it’s not like I’ll ever be able to compare it to the real thing.”

“Jaskier… stop! Please.” The expression on Geralt’s face was pained and he’d never seen him like that, so hurt and broken. And he was torn between wanting to comfort him and the satisfaction his pain brought him.

“What?”, he spat. “You don’t want to hear it? Is the thought of fucking me so repulsive to you?”

“No! Not the thought of being with you. Never! But of that thing using you. It could have killed you!”

“Well then it would have done you a favor, wouldn’t it? Didn’t you wish so desperately for something to take me away? A life’s blessing, wasn’t it? Might as well have been that thing. Or this man tonight. Though I’m sorry to disappoint for still being here.“ He deliberately ignored the fact that Geralt confessed that he was unbothered by the thought of sleeping with him. He probably did not mean it anyways. No need for him to break his heart by hearing a rejection once more.

“No! You being alive will never be a disappointment to me. You know that. But you also know the dangers of those monsters that roam our world. You’re smarter than that Jaskier. Promise me you won’t do such a thing again.”

“Do I really know that, Geralt? Did you ever actually said such words to me? Also, you don’t get to tell me what to do Geralt. Never.”

“I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Seems a bit hypocritical of you to ask that of me. After all, you did a pretty good job of hurting me, too. It’s not like that thing could have done anything worse to me.”

He could see the pain clouding Geralt’s eyes. The hurt he was clearly feeling at hearing his words. And the part of him that craved this was satisfied. Satisfied, that the Witcher would now finally taste a fraction of what he had done to him. All those angry words he wanted to say to him for so many months, he could finally get them out of his system. Forcing Geralt to hear all of it.

And it seemed like for the first time he did seem to understand the entirety of the mess he had caused with his words and actions. 

“Jaskier… how I acted was horrible. And unforgivable. I said words I should not have said. You did not deserve to bear the force of my anger that day and I am very sorry for that.”

He could only stare blankly at him. In all his dreams and fantasies he would have never imagined it to actually hear an apology from Geralt. To have him admit his wrongdoing and accept the blame for what he’d done.

“You hurt me…”, he whispered softly, suddenly deflated after his outburst, after he let all the words he’d kept inside him just pour out.

Interestingly enough, now that he had let confessed everything, the anger was almost gone. Replaced instead by the pain he was still feeling deep inside. The carefully curated mask breaking into tiny pieces as he tried to hold what was left of his fragile soul together. He just prayed he would not start crying. That was a shame he did not want to feel. Not in front of Geralt. He had already shown enough weakness. There was no need for the Witcher to think of him as an even worse pathetic mess than he probably already did.  
  
No. he just needed to get through this and leave. Before he crumbled right in front of him. Then he could cry as much as he wanted. Far, far away from Geralt. It was not like this would change anything between them. He could not get rid of his feelings. And Geralt would never feel the same for him. The only thing that would change was the fact that he now knew that Geralt did in fact regret his words.

“I know, and I know that my apology will never be enough to undo what I did to you this day.”

“Then why did you bring me here? Why did you insist I stay if you know all of that? Why do you keep on hurting me?”  


“Because I still needed to apologize, even if you don’t forgive me. I wanted you to know that I feel very sorry. For what happened on the mountain. And for all those times I was rude to you, for taking your presence for granted. For not realizing how much you meant to me before it was too late. I regret all of it and I want you by my side again. If you’ll have me.”

“Don’t lie to me. Please.” He begged softly. ”I can’t do this again Geralt. I can’t travel with you until you decide to throw me away like a discarded rag. Again. And again and again. And it will happen. Sooner or later I will be too much to bear for you. And while I did survive this one time I’m not sure I can survive another time.”

“Fuck…”

“What?”

“How could I be so blind and never notice…”

“Notice what?”

“What I did to you. How much pain I kept adding onto whatever you were already feeling.”

“It doesn’t matter”

“It matters to me.”

“I’m no young fool anymore, Geralt. Sooner or later everyone reaches the point where they cannot bear me anymore, when they start to curse my existence and wish me gone from their life. It usually happens faster though. I’ve never stayed with anyone as long as I did with you,” he smiled bitterly, “I guess should not have allowed myself to hope it would be different with you. It would have hurt certainly less had it not been after a decade though.“

“I’m sorry, Jaskier. I will leave if that’s what you wish. I just wanted to apologize, I don’t expect anything from you in return. You can keep the room, it’s paid for the night and I’d rather see you safe. At least for one night. It’s the least I can do.”

He cared. Geralt actually cared for his safety. Yet another thing he would have never believed he could hear someday. Perhaps he did die and was imagining this encounter. What other explanation would be there?

“You know what’s the worst of it Geralt? I don’t want you to leave. You hurt me, broke me, and yet I wish nothing more than to be with you again. Isn’t that pathetic?”

And he did feel pathetic. So much for his anger, for the rage that’s been building up for such a long time. It was all gone. Replaced by his innermost wish to be with Geralt again. Cursed be the strength of his feelings for the Witcher. For he would take that love to the grave, that much he was certain of.

“It’s not pathetic. Not when I want the same.” Geralt tried to reassure him but he had a hard time believing him.

“Stop. You don’t have to do this out of pity for me.” And it had to be pity. Obviously. He couldn’t think of any other reason. Of course, Geralt wanted to fix the pathetic mess he’d turned into.

“I’m not doing this because I pity you for fuck’s sake. I want to be with you. I miss you. You talk too much, get yourself into trouble every single time but I still want you with me. I miss your presence on the road. I even miss your singing.”

Either this was a joke or he was dead serious. An entire decade Geralt had done nothing but bashing his songs and voice. And now, now he finally admitted he liked it?

“Does it mean you don’t think it’s a filling-less pie?”

“Of course I don’t think that. I thought you knew. I was tired. And angry. I’m sorry. For everything that happened on that day.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. After all, it was me getting myself into trouble again, just like you said.”

“No. It wasn’t your fault!”

That exclamation had him curious. How could it not have been his fault when he was the one who made those wishes?

“What do you mean?”

“The wish. It wasn’t yours. It was mine. I caused it. By asking for peace. I’m sorry Jask.”

“You mean…”, he started, trying to process that the weird feeling he had, when trying to remember what happened, had been right after all, “and here I thought all this time I caused it.”

“You didn’t. It was me. Everything I blamed you for was nothing but my fault. And I refused to accept it. I yelled at you because it was easier, because you showed up at the wrong moment and I couldn’t control my rage. I’m so sorry.”

“Well, that should teach us both not to mess with things that possess so much power.”

“You don’t blame me?” It seemed like it was now Geralt’s time to be surprised. But Jaskier had spoken the truth. It was not Geralt’s fault and what sense would there be for him to push it onto him. Not when he was already clearly feeling too much guilt for everything that had happened on this day. It was a thing of the past and it wouldn’t do any good to wallow on it. Not for him and not for Geralt either.

“Why should I? It’s not like you said ‘I want the bard to choke to death on his own blood’. You wished for peace and it twisted your words for whatever despicable reason.”

“I’m still sorry. I got us into that mess. I almost killed you because I wanted to run away from whatever I was feeling.”

Geralt seemed so broken by his confession, so guilt-ridden, that he wanted to reach out and comfort him. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not when there were still things to resolve standing between them.

“If I do this, go with you, that is, it can’t be the same as it was before, Geralt.”

“I know. And I don’t ask that of you. I want this to be a new beginning. Let us start again, Jask. Take this day by day and see where it’ll lead us. We have time to figure it out, if you’ll let me.”

That was reasonable. And something he could accept. If there wasn’t one major issue left.

“And what about her? I won’t risk her wrath by taking what she’s claimed.”

“She has no claims on me.”  
  
“After everything that has happened, I do find that hard to believe, Geralt. And I don’t think I can handle being tossed aside every time she decided to show up.”

“We’ve come to an understanding. I cannot give her what she wants, and she cannot give me what I want. There is nothing else we can do about that.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is. There is nothing between me and her. Not anymore. Not since that night on the mountain. And there won’t be anything between us anymore in the future either. We’ve both accepted that there is no sense in pushing for something that doesn’t do us any good.”

“Why?”

“Because I finally realized that it was not her who I wanted. I’m sorry it just took me so long.”

Geralt was having feelings for someone. For someone who wasn’t Yen. But who could have captured the heart of the Witcher he wondered? It hurt him to ask the question but he needed to know.

“And what do you want?”

“You, Jaskier. Everything you’re willing to give me.”

Geralt surely didn’t mean that. At least not in the way he hoped for. This was about friendship. It had to be. Or could he really be interested in wanting more with him?

No, obviously not. As if he would let go a woman like Yennefer for him. _Keep dreaming, Jask._

“You cannot give her what she wants, but what makes you think you can give me what I want Geralt?”

“Try me?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He resigned. Geralt might have wanted him around as a friend, a travel companion, but he doubted he would be willing to fulfill the other cravings that he had. “You cannot give me what I want either.”

“Is that so?”

Geralt slowly moved closer to him, crowding him against the wall until he could not move any further, until there was barely any space between them and Jaskier could feel Geralt’s armor brushing against his still very naked chest with every movement. His strong body such a contrast to his lithe one.

Every other man would be afraid at having a Witcher so close. But he was no other man.

His body trembled, but not from fear. Never from fear. Instead, it was something entirely else.Excitement. Excitement, from finally being in a position he had fantasized all too many times about. He had told Geralt he couldn’t give him what he wanted, but being in this position he was starting to doubt his accusation.

“What is it you that you want, Jaskier?” Geralt whispered, repeating his questions, his face so close that he could feel his breath on his skin. The low voice spreading heat through his body, beckoning him to confess his deepest desires. And he could not hold them back anymore. They slipped out before he even realized he had spoken them out loud.

“Kiss me, Geralt. Please…”

His words were soft, barely audible, but he was certain Gerald heard them. There was no way he did not. Not with his special Witcher senses, not when they were so close to each other they could feel each movement the other made. His heart was pounding, almost threatening to burst out of his chest as fear started to spread through him at the lack of reaction he received. This was it, he fucked it up again.

Closing his eyes he waited for the inevitable rejection. It would hurt but perhaps he could at least have his friendship again. He would give everything for this sweet torture, anything to spare him from being left alone again.

But there was no answer, at least not a spoken one. Instead, Geralt pushed closer and closer, backing him fully into the wall until his back was pressed flush into it, until he could feel the entirety of his strong body against his front. The cold leather of his armor a stark contrast against his still naked and flushed chest.

Rough hands cupped his face with a gentleness he would have never expected before his mouth was captured in a bruising kiss.

Digging his fingers into his armor Jaskier met him with equal greed, opening his mouth willingly to the invasion of Geralt’s tongue. There was nothing gentle about this kiss, instead, Geralt seemed as if he wanted to devour him, to consume him fully. And he reciprocated with the same force. He was not delicate, not anymore. The hunger that had been inside of him for years finally boiling over as he finally had a chance to experience what he’d only dreamed of before.

They kissed greedily, exploring each other’s mouth and taste until they ran out of breath, until their chests were heaving against each other and he was hard as a rock inside his pants. Slowly their kisses became more gentle as they chased the taste of their lips, neither wanting to lose the contact despite having to let go for some air. Their breaths mingled, panted puffs of air against open mouths as Geralt leaned his forehead against his, his own heart pounding rapidly against Geralt’s hand that rested on his chest.

“You don’t have to hold back.” He panted, still trying to catch his breath, as he already craved more. The kiss had awoken an entirely different fire inside of him, one he could barely contain now that he’s had a first taste of what being with Geralt felt like.

“I’ll bruise you.”

“I don’t see how this is a bad thing?”

“I won’t hurt you, Jask.”

“You won’t. Not when I want this.” He was so close to beg for it. How could Geralt deny him now? It was not fair. ”Put your hands on me, Geralt. I want you to mark me. I want to feel your hands on me. On my hips, my throat. _Everywhere._ I don’t care if you bruise me because I _want_ you to do it, Geralt. _Please_.”

There it was. The depth of his wishes, laid out bare in front of him. But he wanted this, had craved this for the better part of an entire decade. He wanted it all. Not only gentleness but also the roughness he knew Geralt possessed. The feral strength he usually tried to hide from any human he met. 

“I’m not afraid of you and your strength Geralt. You don’t have to hold back with me. I want everything you can give me. Soft and rough. You have to believe me, I want this so much even the creature in the woods lured me in with that.”

“I will not hurt you like it did,” Geralt protested. “I won’t use you like that.”

“I know you won’t. But I’m not weak. I can handle it. Bruise me Geralt. Mark me, show the world that I’m yours. Make me forget the memory of that thing. Make me forget the touch of this man. Of all the others before. I only want to feel your hands on me.”

“I never said you were weak. You are strong, stronger than anyone I’d ever met. But I refuse to use you like that thing. Not after everything that has happened, not after tonight. I can be rough with you but I refuse to hurt you like it or any other man.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm not averse to your desires. Far from it, in fact. But we need to talk about this. You know how easily I could cause permanent damage, even by accident. And that is not something I could live with.”

“I trust you. You won’t let that happen. I can’t handle it slow right now. I need you, I’ve needed you for so long. Don’t you want this too?“

Placing a finger on his lips Geralt effectively ended his babbling before he had a chance to protest some more.

“Of course I want this. You have no idea how hard it is for me to hold back.”

He could see Geralt’s reason failing, how close he had brought him to ignore it and let go. Darting his tongue out, Jaskier carefully licked against the finger resting on his lips. Looking up through his lashes at him he found Geralt staring intently, eyes clouded with lust.

“Then don’t,” he whispered against the digit, kissing it softly.

The deep groan that vibrated in Geralt’s chest had his cock twitching in his pants before his mouth was captured in a bruising kiss again, one of Geralt’s hands moving into his hair to pull him into the right position.

“I have to say the longer hair is quite a nice addition.” The words were followed by a tug on the long strands and a nip to his now bared throat.

“I’m absolutely seeing the benefits of keeping it.” The words disappeared into another moan as Geralt kept pulling on his hair, keeping him in place so he had the best access to his skin, teasing him with soft kisses and gentle bites, marking his skin just like he requested.

“You feel that? What you are doing to me?” Geralt growled against his ear, his hot breath sending shivers down his spine. “This is all you, Jask.”

And he did feel it. The hard bulge pressing into him, showing him exactly how much the Witcher desired him. He couldn’t help the needy moan that escaped him. Of all the people Geralt could bed it was him, that invoked such a reaction in him. Even in his sorry state, unkept, drenched in blood and thin as a rail, Geralt still wanted him, craved him as much as he himself wanted to feel him.

Desperately he ground against the leg Geralt had pushed between his own, chasing the delicious friction against his leaking cock, ruining his pants even more, not that it mattered much considering the state they were in.

Geralt roughly ripped at them until the already weakened material gave way and fell to the grounds in shreds, leaving him naked and bare. His mild sounds of protests were swallowed by Geralt’s tongue worming its way into his mouth again and he found it suddenly very hard to further care about the state of his pants. Not when he was all too busy kissing him back.

“I’ll get you new ones. Prettier ones. You need to wear some more color, not those ugly black rags,” Geralt mumbled between his assault of kisses, knowing all too well how much he had cared about his clothes in the past, “those are not worth keeping. Not when they were ruined by the blood anyway.” 

“Yes… anything. Just touch me, please!”

“I am touching you, Jas.” Geralt teased, tightening the grip he had around his hips.

“Not you aren’t. You are a tease!”, he whined, bringing up his legs to wrap them around Geralt’s waist. “Please touch me Geralt. Properly.”

Kissing was not enough, not when he finally got Geralt. He wanted more, so much more. His cock deep inside him, fucking him hard and rough, claiming him. And those fingers stretching him out, preparing him to take the monster still contained by Geralt’s armor. Now was not the time to be teased, now he wanted to feel the real thing before his need drove him insane.

Geralt’s fingers were thick and long, and he’d fantasized so many years about them. How they would feel against his skin, against his throat, inside of him. But nothing prepared him for the real thing. Not the countless men he’d lain with. Not even that thing he allowed to fuck him. 

How could one single finger breaching him feel better than most of the men who had fucked him previously? And if Geralt's fingers managed it to make him feel like _this_ , feeling that magnificent cock inside of him would probably send him right to heaven. He could not wait. Impatiently he tried to grind himself against those nimble fingers, to feel more of them. But Geralt held him mercilessly in place, pinned between the wall and his strong body. There was no way he could go. He was left at Geralt’s mercy, the slow tease of his oiled fingers inside him, stretching him out patiently, driving him steadily into madness. He was sure he would combust of pleasure if Geralt kept going like that.

“Another time, if you let me, I will keep you like this. Just my fingers inside you, my mouth on you… for hours.”

The moan that left his throat at hearing those words was so needy it surprised him, but simply imagining it was enough to have his cock leaking profusely against his stomach.  


“Fuck… Geralt. Yes. But not today. Please… I need you.”

The last thing he wanted in this moment was any more slow teasing. Not when his entire body was burning in need, when every brush of Geralt’s fingers inside him send liquid fire through his veins. He was so close to coming already and they hadn’t even started properly. He doubted he could last long once Geralt was finally inside him, at least not the first round. And oh he did hope there would be a second one at least, because one time would never be enough to sate his needs. 

He was so lost in his pleasure, the steady push and stretch of Geralt’s fingers that he felt himself getting closer and closer to coming. Until Geralt removed his fingers all too suddenly, until he tried to pull back from him.

“No. Don’t go!” He whined, tightening his legs around Geralt’s waist in a desperate gesture to keep him close, beckoning him to continue pleasuring him.

“Jask, I need to get out of my armor.”

“No you don’t! Just keep it on. You can take it off for the next round.” Now he did sound truly desperate. But waiting for more than a decade did such a thing to a person. And he did not want to waste any more time.

“We’ve not even finished the first round and yet you demand the second already.” Geralt chuckled.

“Well you did make me wait a decade for it. And frankly, I don’t see your cock objecting either. Speaking of that cock of yours, Geralt, if you don’t get it inside me right now I’m going to leave and find someone else to help me out!” Nothing more than empty threads from his side, they both knew it, as he was far too desperate to go anywhere else. But yet he felt the need to prove his point.

“Don’t you dare! You’re mine!” Geralt growled and the sheer possessiveness of those words had him nearly spilling. 

“Don’t hold back. Please. I need this… need you. Want to feel you for days.” Jaskier pleaded, too far gone in this pleasurable haze to care if Geralt might think him too needy. But he wanted something to reassure him that it was real. Marks he could see for days, covering up the bruises others left on him, feeling the ache of taking a Witcher in his body with every single step he took.

Geralt seemed to have no objection to his demands as he groaned low and deep at hearing his words, those golden eyes clouding with lust. Quickly fumbling around he loosened his breeches and slicked his cock, kissing him deeply again before Jaskier could feel the steady push of the thick head against his hole, sinking slowly into his all too willing body until he was buried all the way to the hilt.

The burning heat of a cock inside him, contrasting with the cold, scratchy leather against his skin was too overwhelming, his body not sure if it wanted to move closer or further away. But Geralt left him no choice, pressing him into the wall with the mass of his muscles, keeping him right where he wanted to be. Impaled and stretched, the hard flesh pulsing inside him as Geralt let him adjust to the sheer size of him.

And he was massive, filling him up just in the right way. That was it, he was ruined for any other man. Not that he ever wanted one again, not when Geralt was finally his. No, this cock was the only one he would ride until the end of his days. Nothing else could ever compare to this feeling as he was already addicted to it.

But after a while it was not enough. He needed more, needed to feel Geralt move inside him, giving him finally the release he had denied him only moments before. Pulling him closer he kissed him roughly while trying to move his hips against Geralt’s, creating some delicious friction between them.

“Move, please Geralt.” Pleading words between rough kisses as Geralt gladly obliged him, starting out slowly but soon finding a rhythm that was driving him insane.

It was not gentle, they were both still too shaken by emotions to even attempt to take it slower. But it was everything he wanted and more. Geralt fucked him roughly, giving him exactly what he needed, what he had craved for the better part of an entire decade. Hard thrusts pushing him back against the wall with such force he was sure it was going to leave bruises all over his body. Geralt’s hands gripping his hips so tightly he was sure he would wear those finger-shaped marks for days. And he would wear them proudly, cherishing their dull pain as a reminder of his newly found happiness.

Burying his fingers in Geralt’s hair, he pulled harshly at the long white strands as they kissed, cherishing the deep noises Geralt groaned into his mouth nearly devoured him with his kisses. And he pushed back against his thrusts greedily, just as eager to be joined with him in every way possible, to match the desperate rhythm in chase of the sweet release he found himself approaching all too quickly again. 

It wasn’t long until he could feel himself getting closer, the pleasure nearly overwhelming as Geralt knew exactly how to touch him, at which angle to thrust into his body to make him scream with pleasure. It took barely a few strokes with his large hand and Jaskier found himself spilling, vision whiting out as he painted his own chest and Geralt’s armor with his release, marking him as his in a very primal way.

Once he was able to focus again he found himself laying on the small bed of the inn. And Geralt was standing before him, finally without his armor and fully naked instead, all muscles and scars, glistening with sweat. He’d seen him naked many times over the course of the years they’s spend together. But he’d never seen him like this. Still aroused, eyes darkened with lust and his cock ready to sink into his willing body again. And oh he was so very willing. Despite coming once already he found his own cock rapidly hardening again. Slowly he spread his legs, making room between them to fit Geralt’s massive body between them, sending a very clear signal that he was just as willing for a second round as the Witcher was himself.

Another day he would worship his body, kissing every single scar that marked his skin. He wanted to taste the salt on Geralt's skin to drown him his scent and get on his knees for him. And he would do it. All of it. Hopefully very soon. But not today. Today it was something different he wanted, something different he needed. And Geralt was just too willing to give it to him.

It was easy for Geralt to sink back into his body, his hole still loosened from their first time just moments before and he arched from the bed at the feeling of fullness again. He doubted he would ever tire of feeling this. Geralt fit just so perfectly inside him. Like he was made to stay in his body.

And this time it was different, the urgency and desperation from their first round gone. Instead, it was all slow movements, rocking into each other, languid kisses that turned more into breathing each other’s air as they couldn’t bear the thought of being separated. He couldn’t stop staring into Geralt’s eyes, those pools of molten gold shining with such love and adoration for him. It was everything he wanted and more. Geralt taking his time, his trusts steady but calm, building up the pleasure gradually until he turned an overstimulated mess for the second time this night.

He couldn’t stop the tears streaming down his face, his entire body overwhelmed and convulsing in pleasure. He wanted nothing more than to touch his cock, to find some relief. But Geralt wouldn’t let him, holding their entwined hands over his head as he decided the pace of their fuck. And he was dragging it out, taking his time, now that the urgency from their first round had passed. And yet his own cock begged to differ. Flushed and dripping he was near bursting again.

“Please… Geralt…”

Begging and praying as Geralt’s strong body pressed him into the soft sheets, filling him with torturously slow thrusts until his skin was flushed and he was burning with need. His own cock achingly hard and dripping against his stomach. The soft kisses Geralt pressed against his neck, the praises he whispered in his ear with that wonderfully deep voice. 

“You are perfect Jask, so gorgeous, so pretty… it’s like you were made for me.”

“Yes… please, Geralt— I need—”

“Mine, you’re mine Jask.” Geralt growled deep into his ear, the sheer possessiveness of those words sending him right over the edge again as he painted his chest with his seed for a second time that night, his body trembling with the intensity of his release.

He barely registered Geralt spending inside of him, filling him up as his body collapsed on top of him, pressing him into the sheets with his weight as he, too, tried to regain his breath. All he could hear was the blood rushing in his head and the rapid pounding of his heart. Shivering as he felt Geralt's heaving breath against his neck, his body utterly satisfied and boneless.

Softly he carded his fingers through Geralt’s hair, playing with the long white strands, as he attempted to ground himself back to reality. Enjoying the way Geralt rested on top of him, the fullness inside of him and the soft kisses that were pressed against his neck and collarbone, as he, too, recovered. They dragged it out, enjoying this feeling of being still connected for as long as they could, knowing that they would have to separate soon to clean up.

A part of him wished that Geralt would simply stay, deep inside of him, their bodies joined as they slept, the fullness a reminder that he did not dream this encounter. And if he wasn’t so tired he would have tried to convince him, protested more as Geralt slowly untangled himself. Another time, he thought. Another time he would get his wish. But now, now he just wanted to sleep.

He could not move a muscle, not even if he wanted. He definitely needed to get his strength back, to be a better match for Geralt in the future. But thankfully Geralt was more than happy to handle cleaning him up, wiping the oil and seen from his skin before it had a chance to painfully dry in the hair on his chest. Halfway dozing off already he was easily manhandled by Geralt and soon he was as clean as he could get without a proper bath.

“You know, if I’d known this was all it took to make you shut up for once I should have done it earlier.” Geralt teased as he joined him back in bed and pulled him right to his chest, holding him tightly in his arms.

“Congratulations, my Witcher. You’ve truly fucked me into silence. But don’t get used to it.” He whispered before pressing a soft kiss against his chest.

“I won’t,” Geralt reassured him, “I missed your voice too much to ever wish for silence again.”

“I’ll hold you to that the next time you start complaining about it.”

“Well I have found an efficient way to shut you up in that case, didn’t I?”

He laughed. “You did. And you have my absolute permission to always make me shut up in such manner.”

“I will hold you to that. And Jask, promise me you won’t do such foolish things like submitting to monsters anymore. I couldn’t handle it if something happening to you.”

“I won’t. After all now I’ve got you to protect me from making stupid decisions like that, don’t I?”

“Yes, that you do,” Geralt confirmed. “You should sleep now, Jask. We’ll need to leave as early as possible tomorrow, to make some more distance. We’re not yet entirely safe.”

“Where will we go?”

“What do you think about the sea? It’s a good place to relax for a bit, to heal, get our strength back and figure out what we’ll do.”

“You remembered.” He awed. All this time he had thought Geralt hadn’t cared about what he said that day only to find out that he shared his dream.

“Of course I did. And there’s no place I’d rather go with you. If you still want it?”

“Yes! Of course I want to go!” He exclaimed, overjoyed at the prospect to see the ocean with his very own eyes.

“Then it’s settled. We rest now and leave early tomorrow to get as far away from here as possible. And then we’ll make our way to the sea. Sleep, Jask, I’ll keep watch. I promise.”

Finally relaxing in the safety of Geralt’s arms, right where he belonged, it was easy to fall asleep. Soothed by the slow beating of the heart beneath his ear and the rough fingers caressing his back softly. It was just like in his dreams, only with the difference that Geralt would still be there when he woke up. This time there would be no rude awakening, no more loneliness, and solitude. Encaged by those strong arms he felt protected and warm. And truly happy. For the first time in years. 

They still had much to talk about, naturally. One night could not fix the decade of struggles they lived through. And it would take some time for them to work through everything that happened, to repent and forgive. But for now, this was enough, for now, this was everything he wanted, everything he needed. A new beginning. The promise of a happier future, of a love he could finally claim. For now, he was happy again, laying in Geralt’s arms, feeling his body move calmly with each deep breath he took, slowly lulling him deeper and deeper into sleep.

The last thing he felt before he succumbed to it was the press of soft lips against his hair and the quiet humming of a too familiar melody, vibrating in the strong chest underneath his head as he faded into dreamless darkness.

_Let me raise my blood stained glass  
_ _Then my love must silent be!_  
 _With my own songs I shall try_  
 _What I love to glorify_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was it, the first happy ending I've written in years. This is as much as I felt like I could fix-it for the moment. But I do imagine that Jaskier and Geralt continue their travel to the coast and spend their time on the road to talk about their feelings with Geralt finally understanding how much he had hurt Jaskier in the past with his behavior. And obviously they work on ways to make their relationship last and be able to love each other. But the road to the 'i love you' is a long one, that would require many more words and time. So I'll leave it up to your imagination what happens to them after this ending - or rather new beginning. :)
> 
> Fellow angst lovers, I've got something for you, too. I've started writing an alternative second part from Geralt's pov that is different that this one and will be just as part one angsty with an open ending. Stay tuned for that one if you're interested in even more heartbreak and angst!
> 
> If you liked this story I'd be super happy if you toss some kudos/comments to your desperate author as they do motivate me to keep going :D
> 
> And feel free to hit me up on tumblr (@feedingmyinsomnia) I'm always happy to chat :)


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